Or We Run Ourselves Aground
by QueenOfTheDreamers87
Summary: Part II of the Storm Series (Sequel to And Promise You Calm Seas). Vows are made and Ministries are falling. As Voldemort and Bellatrix build their marriage anew, they create a stronger monster than ever within their personal relationship. But will the beast they foster grow too big to control? And will Voldemort be able to manage the political tempest he's conjured?
1. Lust Like a Glutton Dies

" _THIRD MUGGLE FAMILY IN A MONTH DECLARED MISSING,"_ Voldemort read, "And just before Christmas, too. What a shame."

He smirked, and the table full of Death Eaters erupted into a low rumble of laughter. Voldemort tipped his head and then bowed it, and he said gratefully,

"I am pleased with you, Crabbe. Goyle. This campaign of yours is going swimmingly."

"All we're doing is picking 'em off," Crabbe said to the others, as though their work was nothing. "We like to go to ickle cottages in the countryside. No neighbours. Scares 'em even more. They think they're on guard; they've got dogs. Shotguns tipped against the doorways. But we've got somethin' better, 'aven't we? We've got magic!"

The others laughed again, and Voldemort smiled.

"Yes. We've got magic," he agreed. "And you and Goyle just go into their little cottages and make them… disappear. Vanish."

"Quite lit'rally, Master," said Goyle. "Kill 'em and Vanish 'em, quick as you please. Then we leave. We only leave the Mark some of the time, so the Ministry stays on guard. But they know it's us, don't they?"

"They do," Rookwood affirmed, and Yaxley said,

"The Ministry's running scared. The Wizengamot is holding a special gathering just after Christmas to discuss the perceived threat. There's talk of ousting Eugenia Jenkins. She handled the Squib Riots last year well, according to her allies, but things are getting, quote, 'out of her control.'"

"I want _you_ in her place," Voldemort hissed at Yaxley, and Yaxley's face went pale as he stammered,

"I'm not… I'm not sure how to make that happen, Master."

"I am." Voldemort glanced over to Rookwood and shrugged.

"You've got your squad Imperiused in the Department of Mysteries, have you? I want votes. If the Wizengamot ousts Jenkins, I want hands raised to put Corban Yaxley in as Minister. And then you serve _me_ , Yaxley. Everyone understand what's going on here?"

Bellatrix was breathless where she sat. She understood very well what was going on. She gripped the edge of the table as Voldemort stood slowly and said,

"The Ministry of Magic is about to slip like sand through the fingers of our enemies. I mean to catch it when it does. It will all be ours… but only if you play your parts. It is almost Christmastime. Our children will steam home on the Hogwarts Express. We will gather at Malfoy Manor for a grand party. On New Year's Eve, we will drink to excess to celebrate. And what does all of this mean?"

"Vulnerability, My Lord," said Bellatrix firmly, and Voldemort gave a large, slow nod.

"Yes, my beautiful lady," he said quietly. He raised his face to his Death Eaters. "Vulnerability. At the time when we most need to be at attention, they will try to catch us sleeping. Let no mind sleep. Let no wand rest too heavily in a holster. Let no one become too intoxicated, too merry. This is war. You are soldiers. We fight even in the quietest nighttime. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Master," murmured a few of the Death Eaters, and Voldemort nodded.

"Crabbe and Goyle. A thousand Galleons to each of you for your excellent work. Rookwood, set about getting minds shifted against Jenkins and toward the idea of a Minister Yaxley. And Yaxley… you do your own campaigning. Oh, and one last order of business before we break for the holiday."

He cleared his throat where he stood then, and he turned his face toward Bellatrix. She gave him a reassuring nod, for they'd discussed the idea that this topic would be publicly brought up. He gulped visibly beneath his elaborate black brocade robes, and he said to the group,

"You all know that The Lady Bellatrix and I have… well, we shall be renewing our marriage vows. There is no more to be said on that matter. No gifts will be accepted. Any questions? No? Good. Happy Christmas. Dismissed."

He seemed to be shaking a little as everyone rose and left, and Bellatrix rather wished he'd opened the meeting with that news instead of closing with it. He'd seemed so powerful, so commanding, right up until he'd mentioned marrying her. Then he'd seemed unsure of himself. She sighed as the room cleared out, and she kept her distance from him until Abraxas Malfoy shut the door behind him and left them alone.

"I sounded like a blubbering idiot," Voldemort said angrily, but Bellatrix shrugged.

"It's personal business. I'm not sure how you're meant to announce it in any sort of intimidating way. It's done now."

He reached for her hand and pulled her close, and his eyes looked hungry. Bellatrix frowned; he'd dosed himself with Impotens Potion before they'd left the house. Was it wearing off?

"How are you feeling?" she asked, and he let out a rickety breath and licked his lip.

"Like I should bend you over this table and fuck you into -"

"Master." Bellatrix gave him a warning look and shook her head. His lust had been so insatiable over the last few weeks that they'd finally decided to drug him into a state of limp disinterest. But it didn't appear to be working. Bellatrix had insisted on taking a Sterilisation Draught, which was permanent unless she took the antidote, because she was so afraid he'd accidentally forget a Contraceptive Spell one time. Still, it had been too much. Three times a day had left her raw and, frankly, a little bored. Now she was bleeding, so it wasn't as though she were in the mood or physical state to take him, anyway.

"I think we ought to see someone about this," she said, and Voldemort scowled deeply at her and pulled his hands away.

"Yes. Please. Let me march into St Mungo's for this. _Hullo, Healer So-and-So. Can you please help me? You see, I'm a forty-two-year-old man with a seventeen-year-old wife, and - oh, yes, terribly beautiful - and I just want her all the time. So, can you kindly help me with this severe medical issue?"_

"This isn't a joke," Bellatrix hissed. "And I'm not your wife. Not yet."

"I know." Voldemort sank his teeth into his lip and leaned back against the meeting table. "I know you're not my wife yet. I know it's an actual problem. I know it's indicative that the Vow of Loyalty may have hidden side effects that aren't realised. I know. I am not an idiot. But… I have much more concerning matters at hand, if you aren't aware?"

He gestured rather grandly to the table, and Bellatrix shut her eyes and stamped her foot in frustration. Finally she said what she'd been wanting to say to him for weeks.

"What good will all of this politicking do you if you wind up so lusty that you go fuck some whore and get yourself killed because of the vow you took?"

She opened her eyes, and his face was twisted strangely. He scoffed, shaking his head, and he almost looked amused.

"Sorry; is it funny?" Bellatrix asked breathlessly, and Voldemort whispered,

"Is _that_ what you're worried about? That I'll run off on you and die because of the promise I made?"

"Well…" Bellatrix's eyes welled. "There have been times, My Lord, when it has felt like… as if… if you didn't get satisfaction, that you…"

"You don't understand." Voldemort crossed his arms over his chest. "My cravings, my longing, my lust is _all_ directed toward you and you alone. I am not walking the streets gaining erections at the sight of every pretty young witch who passes by. What is happening is that I'll be sitting in my office, writing a letter, and some fleeting thought of you turns into an all-consuming need. It's _you_ , Bellatrix. You."

"Oh." Bellatrix embraced herself and took a few steps away from him. "Then… perhaps I ought to go away for a while. Perhaps I shouldn't sit in on meetings and distract you. I could go on holiday on my own, just to give you some space?"

"What?" Voldemort looked at her like she was mad. "How would that help? That would make it worse? Ten times worse."

"I don't know! I don't know how to help you!" Bellatrix exclaimed, and Voldemort pinched his lips.

"Look. I didn't want to suggest this, but… you could always take the same vow. At least then it would be mutual instead of me being like some sort of beast attacking you."

"But then we'd just spend all of our time in bed instead of getting anything done!" Bellatrix said shrilly, and Voldemort seemed like he couldn't help but laugh a little as he admitted,

"No, you're probably right. In any case, I trust you."

That felt like a cold spike going through Bellatrix's stomach, and she whispered,

"Well, I trust you. It's not… not that I don't…"

"You don't trust me, and I don't blame you," Voldemort said lightly, "but I would never require you to take a Vow of Loyalty. I know full well where your loyalty lies."

He reached for her left arm and pulled back her sleeve, and then he brought her forearm to his lips and kissed at her Dark Mark. She hissed a little in pain at the burn, and suddenly she couldn't keep herself from declaring,

"I'm going to do it."

"Do what?" He pulled her sleeve down and seemed oddly calm.

She whipped out her wand and murmured, "I'm going to do it because I love you. Because I'm your servant. And because I'm going to be your wife again."

"Bella, what are you doing?" Voldemort asked, but before he could stop her, Bellatrix touched the tip of her wand to her chest and incanted,

" _Lord Voldemort. To you I make this Vow of Loyalty. Let my heart be yours and yours alone now and forevermore. Let my mind be yours and yours alone now and forevermore. Let my body be yours and yours alone now and forevermore. And should I violate this most sacred vow, let my body turn to dust and my soul turn to ash. I am yours, Lord Voldemort. I am yours. This I vow._ "

There was a golden flush of pleasant heat around her heart that spread out through her veins, and when Bellatrix raised her eyes to Voldemort, he looked shocked and mildly horrified. He shook his head and muttered quietly,

"Poor child. What have you done?"

 **Author's Note: Woo Hoo! The Storm Series is back! I hope you'll join me on the ride for Part II. PLEASE do review as you're reading; feedback is treasured like gold. :)**


	2. How Now, You Secret

"My Lord?"

He blinked his eyes open and grunted once in response.

"My Lord."

Voldemort turned his head and gave Bellatrix a glare as he informed her,

"It's the middle of the night."

"This is important," Bellatrix complained. Voldemort sat up slowly, for she was already sitting, and he huffed. He didn't want to get started with her; he'd only want her. His body was already coming alive for her. But Bellatrix said quietly,

"I had a dream."

"You woke me because you had a _dream_?" Voldemort scoffed, flopping back down onto his pillow.

"My Lord, this dream felt very much like the dreams about Harry Potter," said Bellatrix, and suddenly he was more alert. He propped himself onto his elbows and demanded,

"How do you mean?"

"Look into my mind," Bellatrix suggested. "I'll let you in. I'll take down my shields."

" _Legilimens,_ " Voldemort incanted, and in a moment, he could see her dream playing before him like an old Muggle film.

' _Tom, I will not let you destroy wizarding Britain,' said Albus Dumbledore, and he held up the diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw. He stabbed it with a jeweled knife, and from beside him, a phoenix squawked in approval. The diadem shrieked and emitted huge clouds of angry black smoke, and then it burst into a million tiny pieces, and the whole Headmaster's office reverberated with the screams of the dying piece of Lord Voldemort's soul._

Voldemort yanked himself out of Bellatrix's mind. She stared at him in the darkness of their room, and she said,

"You never specifically mentioned that one to me. That crown."

"That's the diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw," Voldemort muttered, and Bellatrix nodded.

"You said you made one more on the Continent. You never told me details about it."

"It's a vision. A vision of the future," Voldemort panted, his heart racing. His throat went tight, and he shut his eyes. "Dumbledore's going to find out the truth about my Horcruxes and try to destroy me. And if he finds out about my Horcruxes, he'll find out about yours. We have to destroy him first."

"We have to kill him," Bellatrix agreed. Her voice shook as she pointed out, "You don't know when that vision took place. Where is the diadem hidden?"

"I don't think I should tell you," Voldemort said carefully. He looked at Bellatrix and shrugged. "You're an expert Occlumens, but…"

"No, you're right. If I were captured. I shouldn't know any more about them than I already do," Bellatrix agreed. He stared at her then, for she seemed so much older than eighteen. Sometimes she still seemed so young to him, but not right now. Right now she seemed like a grown woman.

"Bellatrix," he mumbled, and when she met his eyes, he knew she was hungry. But she was bleeding, she'd said. He snared his fingers into her curls and bent to touch his lips to hers, and he whispered,

"I will keep you safe. Will do you the same for me? Keep my secrets safe?"

"Of course I will, Master," she murmured back, and he kissed her more deeply.

* * *

"My Lord?"

"Mmm hmm?" Voldemort didn't look up from his copy of _The Daily Prophet_ in his office at Marsham House. Bellatrix stood in the doorway of the office, hesitant to come in, and he finally put the paper down, bored with it. "You can come in."

She walked inside, and then he noticed that she had on gloves and a winter cloak.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, cocking up a brow.

"Cissy's coming into King's Cross today," Bellatrix reminded him. "I thought I'd go meet her."

"I don't think that's safe," Voldemort said, shaking his head. "You may meet her at your parents' house."

He picked up his newspaper again, but Bellatrix was still standing before his desk. He flopped the paper down and sighed.

"You're not satisfied with that answer."

"I'd like to meet my sister at the train station," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort rose slowly from his chair as he told her,

"You are the Lady Bellatrix now. Every single person in wizarding Britain knows of your association with Lord Voldemort. You are wanted for questioning at best and arrest at worst; people know that you -"

"I think I should be able to see my family," Bellatrix interjected, and Voldemort felt his face go hot.

"I am your master; do not interrupt me," he snapped. She ripped off her leather gloves and crossed her arms.

"So, what? I'm to be a prisoner in this house forever? Bouncing back and forth between meetings at Malfoy Manor and life at Marsham House? That's to be my existence? I'm in prison. That's what you're telling me."

"You are the wife of the Dark Lord!" Voldemort snarled, but she quickly retorted,

"I am not your wife!"  
"Not yet, but you will be soon!" he cried, and she scoffed and said snidely,

"We'll see about that."

He lost his temper then. He stormed around the desk and snatched at her left arm. He ripped back the sleeves of her cloak and her dress and jabbed a finger at her Dark Mark.

"What's this?" he growled. "You're mine. And what's this pretty diamond ring? Mine. You're mine. All mine."

He kissed her hard then, and she squealed in protest against him. He pushed her back against the wall of the office, and she struggled mightily against his larger body. Egged on and hard, he started to yank at the hem of her dress, but suddenly she lifted up one little leg and thrust a knee up hard against his groin. He buckled over in agony and fell to his knees, but she just slapped his cheek hard and shrieked,

"How dare you! Kissing me like that and… and yanking at my dress! I'm going to King's Cross, and then I'm going to my parents' house! And I'm not coming back!"

"Bella." Voldemort moaned her name in pain, but she was crying as she went to his desk and took her leather gloves. She shoved them onto her hands, and he could hardly think through the pain in his man bits as he whispered, "I'm sorry. I wasn't… that was wrong. You can't go to the train station."

"I can and I will," Bellatrix said, and she Disapparated from the spot, leaving Voldemort kneeling, helpless, knowing he couldn't follow her.

* * *

He waited six days to go to her parents' house. It was Christmas Eve, and he hadn't heard a single word from her since the incident in his office. He'd been wrong, he knew, to force a kiss on her and to shove her up against the wall, to make her struggle, to pull at her clothes. He'd been a villain. And he never wanted to be a villain to her. He'd kill a hundred thousand innocents, but he never wanted to wound her again.

So on Christmas Eve, he held a parcel in his hands, and he knocked on the front door of the Black family townhouse in London. When the door opened, he looked down to see Hinky, the House-Elf, standing in a ragged little garment before him.

"L-Lord Voldemort," said the creature in awe. "Please come inside. I'll get my master."

Voldemort stepped inside and let the elf close the door. He sniffed and hung up his winter cloak, and after a few moments, Cygnus Black III came out from a side parlour.

"My Lord!" he said in his booming sort of voice. "To what do we owe the pleasure on Christmas Eve?"

"I came to deliver a gift," Voldemort said, "to the House of Black."

He handed over the little parcel, and Cygnus smiled as he unwrapped it. His jaw dropped then, for inside was an ornately carved pocket-watch inlaid with rubies, emeralds, pearls, diamonds, sapphires, gold, and silver.

"I'm told it's a Black family heirloom that fell out of the family's hands two centuries ago," Voldemort said lightly. Cygnus looked very emotional as he said,

"We've been searching for this watch for… well, since before I was born. Please, sir, will you come in?"

"Thank you," Voldemort said. "Is Bellatrix here?"

"She's in the dining room with Cissy and Druella," said Cygnus numbly. When they walked into the dining room, the witches all stood, except for Bellatrix, who stubbornly stayed seated with her cup of tea. She didn't even look up at Voldemort when he walked into the room. Everyone sat, and Narcissa and Druella oohed and ahhed over the Lost Black Watch of legend and lore. Voldemort was quite the hero, apparently, for returning the heirloom. He didn't tell them that he was rather an expert at procuring lost heirlooms.

"Bellatrix, you're being sour," Druella hissed, and she said apologetically to Voldemort, "We are grateful for you giving her this time with us over the holidays, My Lord, but I admit she's been in quite a mood. I think she's missed you."

"Oh, I don't think that's it," Voldemort said, pursing his lips. He drummed his fingers on the table and cleared his throat. "Bellatrix, may we speak in private, if you please?"

"Must we?" Bellatrix asked, and Druella growled,

"Go."

"Please." Voldemort said politely. Bellatrix sighed as if he'd asked for a limb instead of a conversation, and she reluctantly followed him out of the dining room. She sulked with him up the stairs and into her old childhood bedroom, and he sat with her on the edge of the bed there.

"When will you come home?" he asked, and she said plainly,

"I am home."

"Hmm." Voldemort dragged his thumb over his lip and noted, "I lost my temper. I apologise."

"You violated me." Bellatrix did not seem to be in a forgiving mood. Voldemort glanced down to see that she was not wearing her engagement ring on her left finger. Suddenly he realised something, a puzzle piece that had been missing ever since the incident in his office. His eyes burned ferociously, and he whispered,

"Rodolphus Lestrange."

He glanced over, and she just nodded, her eyes welling. Voldemort's breath shook a little then, and he whispered,

"Well, I wouldn't want to be anything like that. I… I see now. I'll go."

"I'll come home soon," Bellatrix said softly. She reached for Voldemort's right hand and said in a cracked sort of voice, "I feel empty without you, but so angry with you."

"You can be as angry as you like," he promised her. "That was irreconcilably stupid of me. I seem to be quite good at being irreconcilably stupid."

"Wizards in general, I think," Bellatrix shrugged, and they both smiled a little at that. She gave him a stern look and warned him,

"The next time you force anything on me, I'll slice your balls off instead of kicking them."

"Understood," Voldemort nodded. "I don't need a vow to keep that from happening again. And I more than earned the kick. And the isolation."

"Let's go home," Bellatrix said, reaching in her pocket, pulling out her engagement ring, and pushing it on. "My mum's driving me absolutely mad. I have to get out of here. You were right. It's much better living at Marsham House."

He cupped her face in his hand and sighed. "Listen. I do not mean to imprison you. Quite the opposite. Soon enough, you will be revered everywhere you go. Britain will bow to you. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, My Lord," she said softly. She quirked up half her mouth and said, "Let's find out from Cissy before we go about a handfasting date, shall we?"

 **Author's Note: That's right, Bella. Kick him in the nuts. He had it coming. But what about this vision? Bella's a Seer now? She's just gonna keep on having visions? And is she going to experience the intense lust that Voldemort feels, or not? And are we going to actually see the handfasting? I promise I'll answer all these questions and more. Haha. Thank you so very much to all those who have decided to come along for Part II of this series! I'd love to hear from you as you're reading. :)**


	3. There Were No Fear In Marriage

"Do you think it's silly that I should wear white again?" Bellatrix asked her sister, and Narcissa shook her head as she adjusted flowers in Bellatrix's hair. Stephanotis. Bellatrix was wearing stephanotis in her hair, and she was carrying stephanotis in her hands, just like she had the first time. Narcissa insisted,

"You are a bride. This time, you've made the decision yourself. This isn't some contract drawn up between Daddy and a stranger. This time, you've fallen in love and decided yourself, and so it's a little more real, isn't it?"

"More real than you know," Bellatrix whispered. She studied her diamond pendant, the one Voldemort had given her with money he'd earned in France, the one he'd given her when he'd first kissed Etheline Avery as a sign of apology. She gulped and brushed her thumb over it. It was important, she thought, that she wear the pendant today. She wore a gown of very simple white silk, long sleeved with an unornamented V neck. Her hair was pulled into a demure bun into which Narcissa was poking flowers, but there would be no veil. Bellatrix's stephanotis bouquet was quite small.

As for Narcissa herself, she wore a long gown in exactly the same cut as Bellatrix's, only hers was of the deepest midnight blue. At fourteen, Narcissa's girlish figure made her look even younger beside Bellatrix. But the sisters looked pretty, Bellatrix had to admit. She sighed as Narcissa put the finishing touch on the last stephanotis in Bellatrix's hair, and then they rose and she said to her younger sister,

"I know Mum and Dad think he's a golden boy now. Still. I'm rather glad it's just you, Cissy. I just want it to be done. If it makes sense, I… I just want to be married to him again. That's all."

Narcissa's eyes welled a little, and she nodded. "You're doing the right thing. He hurt you, I know. But people hurt one another, and people forgive one another. Hurts heal. People learn. And I can see as plain as anyone else that the two of you are meant to be together forever. I may not be a woman grown, but I can see it."

"You're grown enough, Cissy," Bellatrix smiled. "We should go. They're waiting in the ballroom."

They walked out of the parlour they'd been using in Yaxley House, outside York, and they strolled down the corridor to the large room that would have only been able to comfortably host thirty or forty people for a party. Yaxley House wasn't nearly so grand as Malfoy Manor or some of the other great houses of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but it was still elegant and slick. The ballroom had butter-yellow walls and dark brass chandeliers hanging from the walls - a much brighter space than the rooms at Marsham House or Malfoy Manor.

At the end of the room was Corban Yaxley in a set of Ministry robes, dark purple with a departmental stole. He smiled warmly as Bellatrix walked herself in with Narcissa. Lord Voldemort stood beside Yaxley, looking incredibly handsome in tuxedo robes. He also seemed nervous, and then Bellatrix realised there was something else. Lust. He _wanted_ her, right now of all times. She smirked a little at him and shook her head, for she had not yet felt that crushing need that he'd experienced since taking the Vow of Loyalty. Her working theory was that, since she had not been the one to commit adultery, she would not feel unyielding want toward only one person after taking the vow. In any case, his lust had not seemed to abate, and hers had never seemed to awaken. It was no matter; she would oblige him his want when they went back to Marsham House. After all, tonight would be their wedding night. Again.

"Narcissa Black, do you agree to witness this simple but significant handfasting?" asked Corban Yaxley, and as Narcissa took Bellatrix's stephanotis bouquet, she nodded and said very seriously,

"I do agree."

"We'll make this quick. I know the parties are eager." There was no mockery in Yaxley's voice. He cleared his throat and pulled out a piece of fabric that looked odd, like it was made of water. It was silvery, and he informed them,

"The handfasting material is magical and will contain the very essence of your binding. It will Vanish into the air after the ceremony, but it will not Vanish into Nonbeing. Rather, the essence of your binding will spread throughout the Universe, and the truth of your binding will become Universal. The threads of your binding will never be untangled. The bond we forge today can never fully be undone. To this, do you consent?"

"I do consent," said Bellatrix, feeling all the confidence in the world about the matter. After all, they'd vowed to be physically loyal to one another or else have their souls and bodies destroyed. And they had Horcruxes. Voldemort seemed just as sure as he said,

"I do consent."

"Then take your right hands and clasp them together," said Corban Yaxley. Bellatrix did as Yaxley commanded, holding Voldemort's right hand in hers. She smiled a little at him, and he whispered gravely down to her,

"You are so beautiful that it hurts a little."

"I'll help you," she promised him, and only the two of them knew what the other meant. Yaxley continued on.

"My Lord… Lord Voldemort. Do you promise to ease the Lady Bellatrix's pain and suffering and seek to enhance her joy? Do you promise to nurture and love her, to be loyal to her always?"

Voldemort quirked up his mouth, and Bellatrix grinned. This all felt a little redundant. She nodded, and Voldemort sighed as he said a bit happily,

"I do. I do promise."

"Lady Bellatrix, do you promise to ease Lord Voldemort's pain and suffering and seek to enhance his joy? Do you promise to nurture and love him, to be loyal to him always?"

Bellatrix tried not to laugh. She'd already promised to die for him if she wasn't loyal. Of course she would be loyal. She thought of the other bits, of the pain and suffering, of the nurturing and loving, and she nodded and gave Voldemort a wistful smile.

"I do promise."

"Then I bind your hands and bind your souls." Yaxley took the silvery, liquid-like fabric and wound it around Bellatrix's wrist, then looped it over her hand and Voldemort's before going over his wrist. Yaxley touched his wand to their hands, and he shut his eyes.

" _Necto Conjugatis in Perpetua._ "

The fabric dissolved like salt in water, and Bellatrix felt warmth in her chest. It was similar to the sensation she'd felt when she'd taken the Vow of Loyalty, except this time there was some sort of pull within her, and suddenly she found herself whispering,

"Kiss me."

Voldemort's eyes flashed, and he used his left hand to hold Bellatrix's cheek in his hand. He bent down and touched his lips to hers, but she murmured against his mouth,

"More."

"Not here," he laughed softly, and this time she was the one being pushed away. She breathed quickly then as he released her hand and Yaxley smirked a little. Yaxley nodded and said,

"Well. In the eyes of the Universe, you are husband and wife again, and this time, it is eternal. My Lord. My Lady. I give you my congratulations and wish you all the happiness in the world. And I once again pledge my own service forever."

"Thank you for this, Yaxley," Voldemort nodded crisply. Bellatrix smiled warmly at her sister, who looked profoundly emotional, and she whispered,

"Thanks, Cissy."

"My Lady," said Voldemort rather insistently, and when Bellatrix looked up at him, he asked her quite seriously, "Shall we go home?"

* * *

"Don't worry about the dress; just get me on the bed." Bellatrix kicked off her high-heeled silver shoes and dashed up the stairs at Marsham House as quickly as she possibly could. She tripped halfway up the stairs, and she felt Voldemort's hands helping her up. She hiked up her white silk skirts then and pattered the rest of the way up, and she saw Voldemort's black bow tie land on the ground beside her on the landing. Bellatrix ran toward his bedroom, yanking up on her white gown and muttering,

"Get your robes and trousers off. Now. Now, now, _now._ "

"Well, now you understand what I've been going through," Voldemort chuckled, and Bellatrix said almost angrily,

"This isn't funny. I feel like I'm going to explode."

His face was serious then as he quickly stripped off his tuxedo robes. Buttons nearly burst off his shirt as he struggled to unfasten them rapidly, and he insisted,

"I'm aware of the sensation, Bellatrix. I've felt that way many times now. And you are actually correct that we need to find a solution for it, because there won't always be the option of rushing home and ripping off clothing."

"Well, right now, that's a solution, so _do it._ " Bellatrix tore at the long-legged knickers that she'd worn to avoid a line in the white silk. She ripped them down and off and actually felt them tear, and she swore a little as she kicked them off with her stockings and tossed everything aside.

"Please get on the damned bed," she growled, and she realised she was so sopping wet between her legs that she was practically dripping. She got onto her hands and knees, presenting herself like some sort of gift, like some sort of animal in heat. She panted and mumbled, "Please, please, please…"

"Bella." He sounded desperate as he climbed onto the bed, and then suddenly he'd touched the tip of his cock to her sodden entrance and was pushing in from behind.

"Harder and faster and _now_ ," Bellatrix snarled. Voldemort complained,

"It's going to last ten seconds, Bella."

"Don't care. Do it now." She pushed her hips up and back, cycling them a little, and Voldemort huffed as he seized her tiny waist. He drove himself into her, and both of them groaned as he hilted himself in one push. He stopped then, seemingly to try and make it last, and Bellatrix decided to just relish the feel of him filling her. Stretching her, pushing and pulling at her all at once. She was snug around him, she knew. He was thick inside of her, both of them warm against the other. He was smooth but throbbing, and she could feel the little ridge where his tip met his shaft. It ground against her a little every time he took a breath. She actually relished the feel of him sheathed within her. So rarely did she just take the time to _sense_ him, to absorb the feel of his penetration.

Eventually he started to move, to circle his hips, and when he did, his tip pushed against the front of her body. Over and over, that grinding pulsed and wrenched against the parts of her that were the most sensitive, and Bellatrix murmured against the pillow,

"You're going to make me come."

"That's the objective," Voldemort whispered from behind her, and she couldn't help smiling against the fabric.

"Don't stop," she commanded, her voice muffled.

"Wasn't planning on it," he replied. She laughed now, but her laughter was cut off when she felt her body cross a point from which there was no return. The tightness, the pleasure grew to a peak. She couldn't come back from this.

"Master." Bellatrix squeezed at the pillows with her fists and then felt it all snap. "Master!"

"Bella…" His fingers dug hard into the cheeks of her backside, and he squeezed her through her climax. Bellatrix flushed with satisfaction, her veins and ears going hot with the best kind of warmth. She moaned helplessly against the pillow, and then she heard her husband - _husband_ \- groan loudly. He liked to stay still when she came, she knew. He liked to feel her contract around his cock. She knew that about him. It always triggered his own pleasure, and now was no exception. He released her backside and trailed his fingers up her back, holding her shoulders and bending down a bit as his cock pulsed and twitched within her.

"Bellatrix," she heard him whisper. "I love you."

"Oh." She wrenched her eyes tightly shut at that, for emotion threatened to take her over. She was still in her second wedding gown, she realised. She'd been in her wedding gown through all of this. A few moments later, she lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, and Voldemort lay beside her. They were dirty, a little sweaty, and she was still mostly clothed with flowers in her rumpled hair.

"We're married," Bellatrix noted, and Voldemort scoffed quietly.

"Again."

"Feels very different this time, doesn't it?" Bellatrix asked, tipping her head toward him. He nodded.

"Yes. It does. The first time, I was Tom Riddle, making a socially advantageous arranged marriage in an attempt to ingratiate myself into Pureblood society. I didn't really care who you were. I didn't love you on our wedding day. So, yes, this feels very different."

"You love me now," Bellatrix observed, and Voldemort said softly,

"I love you more than anyone's ever loved anyone else, I think. My love is Dark, I admit it, but I believe it the most powerful that's ever been. I couldn't prove it, but I believe it just the same."

There was a very long silence then, until Bellatrix said what had been bothering her for days.

"I want you to live forever."

"So do I," Voldemort admitted, and Bellatrix continued,

"If that's to happen, then Albus Dumbledore needs to die, and quickly. We should begin planning. You and I are the political assassination squad, aren't we?"

"We are." Voldemort reached for Bellatrix's hand. "Should we be concerned about the fact that you're apparently some sort of Seer now? That you have visions of my future?"

"I don't think we want those visions to stop, do we?" Bellatrix asked. "It would seem to me that it's advantageous to have premonitions of your enemies destroying you. Wouldn't that seem to be helpful in paving your path to power? No need to advertise it, of course. Probably best that Liesl Drucken's dead, since she found out about my dreams."

"You're right, of course," Voldemort mumbled. "And you're right that Dumbledore should die sooner rather than later. But that must be _so_ carefully done. We'll need… we'll need an exceptional plan for that. I've staged deaths before. I've framed others for murders, but… this is going to be complicated. We'll need to make it complicated, or else we'll get caught, and we can't get caught, or all is lost."

"Right. So the political assassination squad turns our attentions to properly plotting the ultimate political assassination," Bellatrix grinned. She pushed a bit of Voldemort's greying hair from his eyes and whispered, "Your wife is beside you. Your servant is behind you. Now tell me - your wife and your servant - what you'd like for your birthday."

"Nothing," he said, his eyes crinkling. "Nothing to celebrate about turning forty-three."

"Hmmph." Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at him and shook her head, feeling a few more stephanotis come loose from her hair on the pillow. "I'll think of something."

"Why don't you just focus on killing Albus Dumbledore?" Voldemort suggested, and Bellatrix laughed as she declared,

"I can multitask, My Lord."

"Oh, you can, can you?" He reached for her face and pushed his mouth against hers, and he whispered, "We're married. Again."

"I need a shower," Bellatrix hummed against his lips, and he huffed as he conceded,

"Fine."

 **Author's Note: So what is this plan to kill Albus Dumbledore going to look like? I've written Dumbledore assassinations into my other stories, but this one is definitely going to be a more complicated plan than ones previously seen. And what do you think about Bellatrix having these visions? What's causing it? Should they be worried (about that or their own physical magnetism)? Thank you SO MUCH to those who have reviewed this story - I really do appreciate the feedback as you're reading more than I can say.**


	4. No Other Medicine, But Only Hope

"You look exhausted," said Voldemort the next day at breakfast. "Did you not sleep?"

Bellatrix raised her eyes to him and shook her head, ignoring her grapefruit. "I had a nightmare. It was nothing."

Voldemort's stomach twisted. "I don't think nightmares are nothing for you anymore. Tell me."

"No. It's nothing," Bellatrix insisted, but Voldemort licked his lip and said very carefully,

"As your master, Bellatrix, I'd prefer if you told me of your volition."

That was a threat, and she knew it, so she picked up her spoon and poked at her grapefruit, and she said wearily,

"I dreamed that I… I was in your way."

"In my way," Voldemort repeated, shrugging. "What could you possibly mean by that?"

"Your addiction had grown too powerful, and I was a terrible distraction for you," Bellatrix said, sounding awfully tired and looking sad. "So I went to Doncaster, where my Horcrux is hidden, and I destroyed it using Fiendfyre. I must've learnt at some point how to control Fiendfyre, for I don't know how. I think I was a little older in the dream. Anyway. I destroyed the pearl necklace. And then I used the Seeing Dagger of Chandigarh to stab myself in the heart, and I died."

A heavy silence fell over the dining room then, and Voldemort shoved his plate away. He'd been monstrously hungry before for his eggs and toast and sausages. Now he wanted none of it. He felt bile rise in his throat, and he swigged at his glass of milk as he whispered,

"Nonsense. Utter nonsense."

"I know. It was just a nightmare," Bellatrix murmured, and Voldemort snapped at her,

"I would _never_ allow such a fate to befall you."

"I know," Bellatrix nodded, but she looked pale and numb. Voldemort's eyes burned, and he found himself snarling,

"Look at me!"

She did, and one tear tumbled from her right eye. He rose and walked over to her, and he shook his head quickly.

"I would castrate myself before I would let my lust cost you your life. You've told me the vision. And, like the others, I will not let it come to pass. I will do anything - _anything_ \- to keep that awful idea from becoming reality. Do you understand me?"

She didn't answer him, so he shouted again,

"Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Master," she whispered at last, and he got down on one knee beside her chair. He seized her face in his hands, and when she looked at him, silent tears were streaming down her cheeks. Well, no wonder. She'd had a vivid dream - a premonition - of her destroying her own soul and stabbing herself in the heart because she was _in his way_. Voldemort shook his head.

"That will not happen. That will not happen. I swear it to you." He kissed her hard and then pulled her against his chest, and she whispered,

"We have to do something. About the way we want one another. It isn't normal. You know it isn't normal. It could get out of control; it could grow beyond the point of stopping it. We have to stop it now."

Some niggling little part of Voldemort told him that he didn't want to stop wanting her so badly, and then the bigger part of him told her that was how he knew she was right. He nodded, and she stared up at him and said,

"I have to go away for a while."

"What are you talking about?" he whispered, shaking his head. "You can't leave. I won't let you. I won't allow it."

She sighed and pulled back as she said, "You know all the specialised witches and wizards on the Continent. Don't you? Isn't there someone you can think of? Someone I could visit in cognito?"

Of course Voldemort had a wizard in mind, a Healer in Copenhagen specialising in Sexual Magic. He'd never visited the man, but everyone in the Dark Arts in Europe had heard of Aksel Lauridsen. But could Voldemort just send Bellatrix off to Denmark on her own? She wouldn't be recognised there, at least in Muggle society, but she'd have to thoroughly disguise herself just to be safe. She'd know that, of course; she was no idiot. He gulped and thought of her vision, of her killing herself because his want of her had grown beyond their control.

He couldn't send her alone. He would not. She was too young, too weak for this. She was a good witch, a strong and powerful witch, but she was not powerful enough for him to send her gallivanting across the Continent unaccompanied when she was the wife of the most polarising wizard in Britain. She would have to stay here, and he would go. He chomped his lip and told her,

"I'm going straight to Denmark. If you desperately wish to come with me, I'll bring you."

* * *

There was frigid rain in Copenhagen. It was the coldest rain Voldemort had ever felt, and he wondered how exactly it wasn't frozen.

The city was quaint and seemed like it would have been pleasant enough if it hadn't been so damned cold and rainy, but as it was, he and Bellatrix hustled from their Portkey landing point to their waterfront hotel, the Admiral.

"Have you ever actually been to Copenhagen?" Bellatrix shouted over the rain, and Voldemort admitted,

"No. Only heard about it."

"Do you speak Danish?" Bellatrix asked, and he gave her a look.

"I can't speak every language, can I? I hope they speak some English. I know how to say _hello_."

They did speak English in the hotel, as it turned out. They were also incredibly receptive to a few carefully administered Confundus Charms and some counterfeit Muggle money. Soon enough, Bellatrix and Voldemort were warming themselves in a cosy hotel room with brick walls and crisp white linens, and Bellatrix asked,

"Do you know to find this Mr Lauridsen?"  
"Dr Lauridsen," Voldemort corrected her. "If things are still the way they were when I heard talk of him fifteen years ago, then he practises medicine as a Muggle. Not to my taste; I dislike the Dark Arts practitioners who utilise Muggle ignorance for their livelihood. Still, what I hear is that his magical skills with sexual medicine are unmatched. It's why the Muggles flock to him. They don't realise he's not just giving them tablets and surgeries."

"How do we find his office?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort pointed to a thick book on the writing desk. He walked over to it and held it up.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, and Bellatrix shook her head. He smirked. Of course she didn't know. He flicked through it and said, "This is a telephone directory. It lists names and businesses in a city. Then you can ring them on the telephone. So I'll look for his practise in here, and then we can ring them and ask for an address."

"But I don't know to use a telephone properly," Bellatrix complained. Voldemort rolled his eyes and informed her,

"I grew up with the creatures, remember? Just let me do it."

Now he was very glad he hadn't sent her alone. She would never make it, hiding amongst Muggles on her own. She was magical to the core of her being, to the marrow of her bones. He quite liked that about her, except when they needed to blend in. Voldemort sat at the writing desk and flipped through the pages that appeared to list businesses until he reached _Medicinsk_ as a category. Then he scanned with his finger through the list of doctors' names until he froze, his finger hovering over _Aksel Lauridsen._ He picked up the black bakelite telephone and dialed the number, a task he was unused to doing even from his days living amongst Muggles. Operators had done this job back in the day; dialing numbers was a new phenomenon even for him. But he managed it, and the dull ringing on the other end of the line told him it had worked.

" _Læge Lauridsen's kontor._ "

"Hello; do you speak English, please?" Voldemort said, his heart picking up a bit, and the woman on the other end of the line said warmly,

"Yes, of course. How may I help you?"

"I'd like an appointment with Dr Lauridsen as soon as possible. I've come from England to see him," said Voldemort. There was a long pause, and then the woman on the other end of the line asked,

"England? You know, I visited a fun pub there once. I wonder if you know it. It is called The White Wyvern. You probably haven't heard of it; there must a million pubs in England."

She was speaking carefully, but Voldemort smiled.

"Yes. I know it well. In Knockturn Alley."

"You'll be requiring magical services, then," said the witch, and Voldemort flicked his eyes to where Bellatrix sat on the edge of the bed, awed by what was transpiring. Voldemort said over the telephone,

"Yes, I will."

"He can see tomorrow at three in the afternoon. May I have a name, please?"

Voldemort hesitated for just a second too long, and the witch said quickly,

"I will simply write down Patient 167, if that suits you."

"That's fine. Thank you," Voldemort said. The witch informed him,

"You can Apparate straight into our waiting room at three o'clock, if you wish. Simply Deliberate on the office of Dr Aksel Lauridsen. Or, if you want to walk, we are Number 19 in Toldbodgade."

That was just down the road from the hotel, which almost amused Voldemort, but he just said again,

"Thank you. Until tomorrow, then."

"Payment in English Galleons is accepted," the witch said, and Voldemort smiled a bit as he hung up the telephone. Bellatrix shook her head in wonder and asked,

"They operate some sort of hybrid business? For both magical and Muggle types?"

"Seems so. She asked a coded question about the White Wyvern," Voldemort said. He dragged his teeth over his lip and stood. He walked over toward Bellatrix, and she told him,

"I don't want all this business to distract us from the task of killing Dumbledore. That's very important."

"Keeping you alive is also very important. Lots of important things going on," Voldemort said. "We'll go tomorrow at three. I'm sure he'll have answers."

* * *

"I'm sorry that I don't have a better answer for you," said Dr Lauridsen, a tall, thin blond wizard in Muggle medical attire. Voldemort felt rage go through him. He and Bellatrix sat side-by-side in chairs in the examining room, both of them having endured individual physical exams that Voldemort would describe as _invasive_ at best and _violative_ at worst. He let out a shaking breath now and said almost desperately to Aksel Lauridsen,

"I took the Vow of Loyalty because… I made mistakes."

"Many people do. Mistakes get made," Lauridsen said, "but the Vow of Loyalty is dangerous. It is not a bandage for a relationship wounded by adultery. I would always recommend… counseling?"

"Counseling." Voldemort scoffed and shook his head. "You don't understand; I had important things to attend to. Important -"

"I understand, Lord Voldemort," said Aksel Lauridsen, and Voldemort froze. Lauridsen sighed and shrugged, glancing between Bellatrix and Voldemort. "You think I don't know who you are? Don't worry; I took an Unbreakable Vow of my own, one never to reveal the identities of my patients. Still, your name doesn't change your medical reality."

Voldemort felt his chest crumple a little, though now at least he felt he could be a bit more upfront. He said to Lauridsen,

"There have times… during meetings with others, where I have not felt entirely in control of myself."

"For that, I recommend learning the art of magical meditation," said Aksel Lauridsen. "Muggles use mantras, repeated phrases, to empty the mind. But we have spells to accomplish the same goal much more effectively and quickly. Are you familiar with clearing your mind of an insistent sensation?"

Voldemort shifted in his seat. Bellatrix glanced up to him, and he admitted, "No."

That wasn't something he'd learnt during his years on the Continent. He'd been a bit busy with Necromancy. Lauridsen said patiently,

"If you feel the lust rushing over you, you can nonverbally repeat the following incantation. _Vanus, Inanis. Vanus, Inanis. Vanus, Inanis._ You repeat those words in your mind until the lust fades. It may take a few moments. It may not go away entirely; it may only weaken. But at the very least, you will be functional. This will not control your life. But I must scold you, sir. These vows should absolutely not have been taken, especially not mutually. They are so strong, and so rare, and everyone is unique. It is setting a dragon loose on a village. You can not begin to guess the effects, much less easily control it."

" _Vanus, Inanis. Vanus, Inanis,"_ Voldemort recited. " _Vanus, Inanis._ "

"An empty void," Bellatrix said, for that was what the spells' incantations signified. Voldemort nodded and whispered,

"An empty void."

"What if… what if I _want_ to want him?" Bellatrix asked, and he realised that she was afraid this cure would snuff out their mutual desire entirely. Aksel Lauridsen looked at her like she was mad, and he said,

"I don't suppose that's going to be a problem, Mrs…"

"It's just Bellatrix." She seemed a little defeated, and Voldemort didn't blame her. They'd come all the way to Denmark, and the only answer they'd received was to chant nonverbal spells in times of lusty crisis to try and calm it down. They were just as likely to have found that solution in some dusty spellbook among Marsham House's countless bookshelves. Voldemort sighed, realising it wasn't Lauridsen's fault that he didn't have a good answer for this problem. And he also realised that the man had _claimed_ to have taken a vow about his patients' identities, but that people could _claim_ just about anything. So he pulled out his wand and swiftly twisted it at Aksel Lauridsen, incanting,

" _Obliviate._ "

He was careful, twining out only the memory of this meeting. Then he cast a memory replacement charm in which this meeting had been to discuss impotence, and wherein entirely different identities had been confirmed. He lowered his wand, tucked it away, and glanced at Bellatrix, who seemed nervous. Lauridsen gave them a happy little smile and asked,

"Have you any questions about brewing the Potens Potion, Mr and Mrs Gareth?"

"No. No questions," said Bellatrix confidently. "You've been so helpful. Thank you."

"Have a fine trip back to England. Hopefully the weather is better there," said Lauridsen, and Voldemort just curled his lips up as he stood, took Bellatrix's hand, and strode out of Lauridsen's office without looking back.

 **Author's Note: Uh-oh. Their best lead was a dead end. Sort of. Maybe the meditation will help a little bit? But that vision Bellatrix had of herself is no good. Maybe some focus on killing Dumbledore will steady everyone a little bit. Ha. Oh, but first… someone's turning forty-three… :}**

 ***Insert obligatory plea for reviews here***


	5. Screw Your Courage To The Sticking Place

"Tippy," Bellatrix whispered, "Is his breakfast almost ready?"

"Yes, Mistress," Tippy wheezed back. "I've got sausages and back bacon, beans, tomatoes, bread fried in butter, three eggs, mushrooms, and potatoes. Plus tea and juice and water."

Bellatrix giggled and silently clapped her hands together. She'd already washed up and scrubbed her teeth, and she'd dressed herself in a short little silk dress that showed off her chest nicely. She waited by the dining room table, and she nodded to Tippy.

"Bring the food out. The smell will bring him down."

"Yes, Mistress," Tippy said with a little smile. The House-Elf disappeared into the kitchen, and then several enormous plates of food appeared at the head of the dining-room table. Bellatrix grinned, for the aroma was overwhelming. After a few moments, she heard creaking on the steps, and a very tired-looking Voldemort appeared in his black flannel pyjamas.

"What smells so good?" he asked in a groggy voice, and Bellatrix replied,

"Your birthday breakfast, of course."

"That's enough food for a bloody army," Voldemort grinned, but he didn't protest as Bellatrix pulled out his chair. He sat down and let her sit beside him, and as she smiled at him, he assessed the ridiculous spread of food and asked himself aloud,

"Where to begin?"

Bellatrix felt content as she watched him cut into the sausages, as he broke egg yolks over toast and washed down potatoes with juice. After awhile, though, he sat back and admitted,

"I've been eating light for a while, you know. Trying to get trim again. Now I'm going to burst, and you've made me fat all over in one fell swoop."

"Nonsense." Bellatrix reached for his fork and asked, "May I have a bite of potato?"

"Let me do it." He smirked and took the fork from her, and she laughed a little as he fed her the bite. He seemed a little aroused by that; his cheeks went pink. He swallowed hard and stabbed another potato, and when Bellatrix plucked it off the fork with her teeth, he mumbled,

"Come here."

"Master," she warned, for the day had just begun, but he growled a little and argued,

"It's my damned birthday; I'm not going to meditate it away. Come here."

She did, and she wound up riding in right there on the dining room chair until it moaned more loudly than she did. It creaked until Bellatrix thought the chair would break, but then Voldemort pumped her full of come and buried his face into her neck as she panted above him.

"I haven't been able to go shopping for your birthday," she whispered, and as they tucked everything away again, he shook his head.

"I don't need presents."

"But it's special. You're forty-three!"

"What is so special about forty-three?" he asked with a laugh. Bellatrix grinned crookedly and said,

"It's special because you're _you_ , and any birthday of yours is special. My Lord."

"I'm old. Pretty young thing." He pet her hair and kissed her dewy forehead, and he reminded her, "We've got the party at the Malfoys' tonight for New Year's. Do me a favour. Don't get too drunk. Loose lips and all that. We've got a lot of confidential information between us right now. I don't want gushing conversations resulting from celebratory gin to bring castles tumbling down, all right?"

"Understood," Bellatrix said. "But that party isn't until much later tonight, and I think you and I should have a meeting in your office today. A strategic meeting of the political squad."

Voldemort quirked up half his mouth and nodded.

"Let me go get dressed, My Lady, and we shall meet."

* * *

"So." Voldemort folded his hands on his desk and declared, "Albus Dumbledore is arguably the most powerful wizard alive, and he's also essentially surrounded by allies at all times. And we need to kill him."

"And we need to kill him," Bellatrix confirmed. "It has to be an inside job."

"Well, that would work, if you hadn't been expelled," Voldemort said lightly. "Sorry about that. No offence, but I don't think we can trust Narcissa to -"

"I wasn't thinking of Narcissa," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort frowned in confusion. Then, after a long moment, realisation came over his face, and he asked quietly,

"Lucius Malfoy?"

"The boy has it in him. I think you know as well as I do that the boy has it in him," Bellatrix said. "He'll spend the rest of his life in Azkaban if he's lucky. Unless - _unless_ \- we can work with him to devise a plan to isolate Dumbledore. Some way to get Dumbledore alone in a place with no witnesses. But that's where my brain runs dry."

Voldemort shut his eyes, and the corners of his lips turned up. Bellatrix frowned until Voldemort whispered,

"It would become a passage to the Headmaster's office."

"What would… something would become a passage?" Bellatrix asked, and when Voldemort opened his eyes, he declared,

"In the left seventh-floor corridor of Hogwarts Castle, there is a room that only appears when it is needed most. And it morphs and shifts; it is… sentient, in its own way. It becomes whatever it needs to be. If Lucius Malfoy _needed_ a way to be alone with a vulnerable Albus Dumbledore, then this room would almost certainly become a passageway into the office of the Headmaster"

"All the portraits would see him," Bellatrix said, baffled. "That would never work."

"I took something from the Potters when I killed them. I should have told you sooner. I'm not sure why I didn't." Voldemort rose and walked over to the shelving along his walls. He opened a drawer and pulled out a brocade sort of curtain - no, a cloak. Voldemort informed Bellatrix, "I sensed that something powerful was in the room after I killed them, and I found this. It's an Invisibility Cloak."

"I thought those were a myth," Bellatrix breathed, but Voldemort wrapped the Cloak around his body until he had a floating head, and he asked,

"Does this look like a myth to you?"

He took the Cloak off, folded it, and placed it on his desk. Bellatrix's heart raced as pieces began to fall into place.

"So… Lucius Malfoy would figure out a time when Dumbledore was going to be alone in his office. Then he'd test out this… this special room a few times, ensure it got him what he needed. Access to Dumbledore. And then he'd disguise himself using the Invisibility Cloak, cast a Killing Curse, and escape out through this special room before he could get caught. Have I got it all straight?"

"Yes. That's… I can't think of a better plan just now," Voldemort said. "It's worth a try. And the worst-case scenario is that Lucius Malfoy is lost. But if I know Abraxas, and I do know him, he'll want his son a soldier as soon as possible. We'll discuss it with them tonight before the party."

Bellatrix shut her eyes and nodded. "This is the plan, then."

Voldemort drummed his fingers on his desk and mumbled in agreement, "This is the plan."

* * *

"There could be no greater honour," Abraxas said very firmly, and Lucius Malfoy tipped his chin up and said primly,

"I would lay down my life for you, My Lord, though I promise instead to do your bidding successfully."

"Don't get cocky, Lucius; this is dangerous," Abraxas warned. Bellatrix agreed,

"The odds of Dumbledore sensing you in his office and just Stunning you are massive. You'll be expelled, sentenced by the Wizengamot to something or another. Are you really willing to do all of this? If you aren't, we need to Obliviate you _now_."

"I will gladly do this," Lucius hissed, almost defensively. Voldemort sighed from where he sat at his desk, and he nodded. They'd gone over every single detail of the plan about four times. He said to Lucius,

"You mustn't breathe a single word of this. Not to Narcissa Black, not to your friends."

"Silence is mandatory. Understood, Master," Lucius nodded. Voldemort tapped his fingers on his desk and noted,

"You're only fourteen. I can't make you a Death Eater yet. But if you succeed, you have my word that you will forever hold the highest place of honour in my movement, and you'll be a Death Eater on your seventeenth birthday."

Lucius bowed his head gratefully. Martina Malfoy paced toward the back of the office and mumbled,

"He's only a boy."

"Martina, if you have some objection, we'll Obliviate _you_ ," Abraxas snarled, and Martina shook her head firmly.

"I have no objection. Only a mother's natural fear. But it is an honour, of course."

"I will send you back to school with the Invisibility Cloak," Voldemort said to Lucius Malfoy. "I want you to spend the next month attempting to enter the room on the seventh floor and seeing if it will consistently respond to your needs. Then, and only then, do you write to me with a very simple correspondence. _Yes_ or _No_. Then I will know whether we are moving forward. Do you understand?"

"I understand, My Lord," Lucius nodded, and Bellatrix chewed her lip a little as she whispered,

"He will need Narcissa's support."

Voldemort frowned up at her a little, but when she tipped her head, he said in a conciliatory tone,

"You may inform Narcissa Black and no one else. Confide in her if you are feeling like you need someone to discuss the matter, but be very careful."

"Of course." Lucius looked very relieved, and Bellatrix could sense then that, even at their young age, her sister and Lucius were remarkably closely bonded. She gave a grateful look to Voldemort, who said simply,

"Write to me after a month of testing out the room. Keep the Cloak completely hidden; don't use it for sneaking about the Castle. Now. We have a New Year's party to attend. May I suggest that the adults have just enough but not too much? Let's all get just a little happy, but not talkative, eh? Let's go."

 **Author's Note: So it's Lucius who's tasked with killing Dumbledore instead of Draco. Mwah hahahaha. Will this plan work? Will Lucius be brave enough to actually go through with it, or will he get caught? And will Voldemort's very targeted lust stay confined to dining room chairs? (Hint: Probably not)**

 **Sorry for the crazy rapid updates. For those of you who are reviewing as you read despite my crazy update speed, I love you forever and ever. :)**


	6. The Quality of Mercy

"Updates, if you please," Voldemort commanded. He flicked his eyes to where Bellatrix sat. Why had she worn a low-cut blouse today? He could see the shadow of her cleavage. That was not exactly playing fair. She frowned a little at him, and he scowled as he shut his eyes for a moment and incanted in his mind,

 _Vanus, Inanis. Vanus, Inanis. Vanus, Inanis._

It didn't work. Not one bit. He huffed and snapped,

"Crabbe! Goyle! Not one Muggle or Mudblood disappearance over the holidays. Why not?"

Crabbe and Goyle looked at one another, and Goyle admitted,

"We were… celebrating, Master."

"You were celebrating," he repeated. He narrowed his eyes. "You were celebrating Christmas, so you couldn't do your jobs."

Crabbe's mouth fell open, and he began stuttering some excuses that Voldemort had no interest in hearing. He stared at Bellatrix, and she tugged at the neckline of her blouse protectively. Voldemort pursed his lips and imagined suckling one of her breasts into his mouth. He imagined dragging his tongue over her nipple, making her squeal as he squeezed and sucked and,

"Crabbe! Shut up!" Voldemort snarled. Crabbe closed his mouth, and his face turned the colour of a tomato. Goyle shrank back in fear, and the entire meeting room was silent. Voldemort felt his cock go rigid in his trousers, and he muttered,

"I want one Muggle dead every week for the next month. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Master," said Crabbe and Goyle in unison. Voldemort gulped and added,

"Wear your masks. Cast the Dark Mark every time."

"Yes, Master," the two of them said again. Voldemort glared at Bellatrix, and he knew everyone was watching him stare. He couldn't keep himself from imagining. He wanted to slam her down face first on the table. He wanted to fuck her until she screamed, until she begged him to slow down. He was about to come in his trousers.

 _Vanus, Inanis. Vanus, Inanis_. Nothing.

"Rookwood!" he barked. "Yaxley! What is the status at the Ministry."

Corban Yaxley looked utterly terrified as he stared at Rookwood and then back up at Voldemort. He licked his dry, thin lips to wet them and said softly,

"Master, the Wizengamot has met, but the consensus… at Dumbledore's urging… was to keep Eugenia Jenkins in place as Minister for Magic. Even our Imperiused representatives in the room were not enough to sway the vote to -"

"Useless, the both of you," Voldemort hissed at Yaxley and Rookwood. He glanced to Bellatrix, and suddenly his head was completely filled with images of her backside as he fucked her, the handprints she'd leave behind on the shiny table, her curls swaying with every thrust.

Suddenly he was marching straight toward her, and her eyes bugged out of her head as she realised what was going on. Somehow she had the presence of mind, as he snatched her wrist and yanked her out of her chair, to scream in horror and fall to her knees.

"Mercy, My Lord, I beg you!" she shrieked. "Please! I know we've all failed you recently. Please! I, worse than any of the others, have failed you, but please don't kill me. Please don't kill me."

His head cleared as though someone had poured a bucket of icy water over him. The visions of sex were gone, and he realised that Bellatrix had just saved his entire ascent, his entire movement. She stared up at him with a terrified expression, her hands clutched together, pleading with him, and she mumbled frantically,

"We won't fail you again like this. We'll be the servants you deserve. Please don't kill us. Please. I beg you. On behalf of all of your Death Eaters, I beg you for mercy."

Voldemort took hold of her wrist and slowly brought her up to stand. If he'd bent her over the table and fucked her in front of everyone, he would not have looked fearsome. He would have been an object of ridicule. His growing movement would have dissolved like smoke in the air. Bellatrix had just rescued him. So he cupped her jaw in his hand and stared down at her, and he nodded.

"Mercy, she cries," he said, and he looked to the others around the table. On their faces, he read horror. Anxiety. Utterly shock and the terror that came when one thought one's life might end at any moment. Voldemort aimed his wand at Crabbe, who trembled, then at Goyle, who flinched. He aimed it at Yaxley and then Rookwood. And then he touched it to the chest of his wife. And he stared at her, and he said quietly, "She cries out for mercy. And the good Dark Lord grants it."

He bent and touched his lips to hers, and he commanded her, his mouth a hair's breadth from hers,

"Sit. Down."

"Yes, Master," she nodded, shrinking away from him. Voldemort stalked back to the front of the table, his embarrassing erection long faded. He stood before the congregation of his closest followers, and he said in a low, menacing voice,

"All of you will do better. My targeting squads will do their jobs. The Ministry will turn in my favour. There are tasks to be completed, and they will be successfully completed. My servants will serve me, or they will die. Am I well and truly understood?"

"Yes, Master," came a rumble from around the table. Bellatrix looked like she was going to be sick, but she said _Yes, Master_ right along with the others. She nodded at Voldemort, who crossed his arms and tipped up his chin.

"Dismissed."

* * *

"You could have ruined everything," Bellatrix said from inside the shower. Voldemort leaned against the wall in the bathroom and touched at his forehead. His sleeves were rolled up, and he'd taken off his robe and tie, but he was far from relaxed. His heart hadn't quite slowed down since the meeting that afternoon.

"Bella," he said softly, "I… I was not in control. I snapped. I tried the incantations; they did nothing. If you hadn't screamed at me not to _kill_ you, I wouldn't have woken up. You're right. I would have ruined everything."

"I'm not always going to be able to think quickly and stop it like that," Bellatrix worried, and Voldemort muttered,

"I wasn't kidding about castration."

"What?" Bellatrix called over the stream of the water. Voldemort sighed and stared down at himself. He chewed so hard on his lip that it hurt, and he finally said in a voice that made his chest hurt a little,

"I… I could still take care of you. Use my… fingers and my mouth and… they make instruments, toys, you know, for that sort of things, and…"

The shower shut off. Bellatrix peeled back the curtain and stood before him, naked and wet, and Voldemort had to turn away from her.

"What are you talking about, Master?" Bellatrix demanded. Voldemort shrugged, listening to the rustle of her towel as she wrapped herself up. Her feet padded on the tile floor as she neared him, and her damp hand was on his shoulder, warm and wonderful. Voldemort found himself wanting her badly then, and it was just more proof to him of what he needed to do.

"You can't… you can't do that," Bellatrix said in disbelief, but Voldemort sneered at her,

"Am I meant to humiliate myself in front of my followers and let your horrific vision come true, then? Better my cock rendered useless than our lives ruined, isn't it?"

"Please. There must be some other way," Bellatrix hummed, and Voldemort scoffed.

"I think we said that four or five ways ago, didn't we?" Voldemort asked. Bellatrix growled and stamped her foot, and Voldemort turned slowly to stare down at her. Bellatrix licked her lip and nodded resolutely.

"Right. You're quite a good… reader."

"Reader?" He raised his brows, and she nodded.

"Mmm-hmm. You've got loads of books. Books upon books. I'd like you to read, please. Yes, that's right. I, your servant, am tasking you. Read. Research. Find an answer that doesn't involve… castration. I… am going away. And I'm not telling you where, because I don't want you to chase me."

Voldemort shook his head and insisted, "It is not safe for you to -"

"I'll be safe. Don't you worry, My Lord," Bellatrix said stiffly. "I'll be very safe. And you can focus. You can focus on Lucius, and you focus on research. And when I come home, you will have an answer."

"Don't leave," Voldemort pleaded, but something inside of him knew that she was being wise far beyond her years. She started to stalk out of the bathroom, and she went into her own rooms and started pulling clothes out of her wardrobe and stuffing them into an Expanded suitcase. She was still wrapped in a towel as she did it. Wherever she was going, Voldemort noticed, was warmer than here.

"I'll read until my eyeballs fall out," Voldemort said. Bellatrix smirked, for that had just been a silly thing for him to say. He threw his hands in the air and amended, "I'll get an answer. Please come home soon. Please stay safe."

"I will. On both accounts. Promise," Bellatrix nodded, walking over to her cosmetics table and grabbing items. "You know this needs to be done. We need a good system in place for both our sakes. Today was far too close a call, wasn't it, Master?"

"Yes, it was," he said softly, and when he swallowed, his throat felt dry. His eyes watered a little, and he whispered again, "Please come home soon."

Bellatrix gave him a brave little smile, holding perfume in one hand and lipstick in the other, and she nodded.

"I'll be home soon," she said, "and you'll have an answer. My Lord."

 **Author's Note: Oh, my. I think a lot of you probably called that he was going to lose control in the wrong context. But where is Bellatrix off to? Any guesses?**


	7. Her Princes Are Come Home Again

The Canary Islands were hardly scorching in January, but Tenerife was warm enough for Bellatrix to lie out on a beach upon a towel in nothing but a short black dress and soak up the sun. She lay in peaceful silence for a good long while, just wondering whether Voldemort was back home doing research, until a voice beside her said,

"Hello, there."

"How'd you know I was English?" Bellatrix demanded of the phantom male voice, and the man replied,

"Because you are so pale. Beautiful, but pale."

"Mmm-hmm." Bellatrix sat up slowly and assessed the Muggle beside her. "And based on your accent, you're French."

"Ah. Does that mean you speak French?" asked the skinny, brown-haired young man who had taken the liberty of sitting on the sand beside Bellatrix with no shirt on. Bellatrix scoffed.

"I speak French, but not to you."

"Beautiful girl, at least give me a name," he begged her, and she rolled her eyes.

"Bellatrix."

"Bellatrix," the man purred back, and she felt uncomfortable at the way he'd said it. "I am Pierre."

"Of course you are," Bellatrix laughed, and his eyebrows went up. Then his gaze went to her left hand, and he tipped his head.

"She's taken. A pity. Where is your affianced?"

"Husband," Bellatrix corrected, but she didn't tell him that Voldemort was all the way in England. Pierre smirked. He didn't believe her, Bellatrix could tell, and she had no husband to produce. She felt a little unsafe, all of a sudden, and she almost reached for her wand. But the young man simply said,

"Would you like to have some fun on your solo vacation, Mrs Bellatrix?"

"No. Thank you," she said, and Pierre bowed his head.

"I'll let you soak up the sun in peace. Have a good day." He rose and walked off, very evidently sensing his defeat. Bellatrix gulped and checked in her striped beach bag, ensuring that her wand was there. Her heart raced a little, and she decided she wanted a drink or three. She stood and folded up her towel and slid on her shoes, and she walked up the beach to the oceanside bar that had been set up along the shore. She took a seat at one of the stools, and a tanned barkeep asked her in English,

"What'll it be, Miss?"

"A mint mojito," Bellatrix ordered, for she'd had one the day before on recommendation, and it had been delectable. The barkeep began mixing up her drink, and Bellatrix carefully counted out her Muggle money. She'd traded at Gringotts before leaving England, too afraid to counterfeit and get thrown into some nasty Muggle prison. She slid the coins across the bar and got her drink in return, and she stared out at the cerulean ocean as she sipped.

Was he reading books at home, she wondered? Was he studying ways to keep from conquering her on a table in a meeting and destroying everything he'd built? Was Lucius Malfoy able to access that special room at Hogwarts? She felt so removed from everything important here. This place was beautiful, but it was no paradise, not when she was alone and her master was surrounded by chaos. She couldn't even write to him. She sighed a little and whispered,

"I'll be home soon enough."

" _Hola._ "

Bellatrix turned her head at the Spanish greeting and said half-apologetically to the man before her,

"I'm English."

The handsome young Muggle man grinned and said, "Hello, English. I'm Fernando."

"Clever." Bellatrix rolled her eyes and sipped the last of her mojito. "Do you use that line on all the English girls?"

"Only the pretty ones," said Fernando. Bellatrix set her empty drink down, and the barkeep asked,

"Another mojito, Miss?"

"Two - and I'll pay for both," said Fernando. Bellatrix crossed her arms and told him,

"Well, now I feel obligated, Fernando."

"Obligated to do what?" He winked at her, and she said back rather petulantly,

"Obligated to give you money for the drinks. Here." She pulled out a few coins and put them on the bar before her. "My husband wouldn't be too happy if I were taking free alcohol from -"

"Husband? Ha!" Fernando pointed to Bellatrix's ring and exclaimed, "I thought you were one of those high school girls who wears a fake ring for show. You are, aren't you? You're too young to be married."

"I'm not." Bellatrix hugged herself a bit and shook her head. "He's certainly not; he's forty-three."

"Oh. Money." Fernando nodded and took his mojito, but Bellatrix left hers alone and insisted,

"This is precisely none of your business. Thanks anyway for the drink. _Adios_ , Fernando."

"Sour little girl," she heard Fernando saying as she hopped off the stool and started walking quickly away. Bellatrix didn't care. She didn't like the way men treated her here. She didn't like being alone, without Voldemort, where men could leer at her and try to lure her into situations that made her skin crawl. She hurried back to her hotel, a plaster building on a busy street corner, and she climbed the tile stairs up to the third floor. She put her key into her door and was about to open it when a voice behind her said,

"Ah. Beautiful Bellatrix. I had no idea we were staying at the same hotel."

Pierre. The Frenchman from the beach. Bellatrix whirled around and gulped, and she watched him lead a very drunk-looking, overly made-up young woman into his own room across the corridor. He waved and smiled at her, and when his door shut, Bellatrix's eyes welled. She shoved the door to her room open, then slammed it shut and yanked her wand out of her bag. She aimed it at the door and murmured,

" _Colloportus._ "

Then she rushed over to the hotel room's writing desk and sat down, arranging her fingers around the strange plastic pen that Muggles used instead of a quill. She stared at the little pad of bright white paper that the hotel had provided, with its name up at the top, knowing she couldn't send anything by owl, knowing she was alone, knowing she'd have to destroy whatever she wrote as soon as she wrote it.

 _Dear Master,_ she scrawled, her writing a mess with the odd self-inking instrument,

 _I am frightened here, though I would never tell you as much. I love you. I miss you. I need you to find an answer quickly so that I can come home and we can build what you deserve. So that you can be everything. So that we can be everything._

She ripped the little sheet of paper from the pad and balled it up, and then she used her wand to make it hover in the air. She set it on fire and watched it burn, and as she did, silent tears streamed down her cheeks.

* * *

She stayed for sixteen days.

Most of the time, she hid out in her hotel, too uncomfortable to go anywhere else. Sometimes she would hike around the volcano, or explore the restaurants and shops around the city. She found a book shop and purchased ten used books, which she quickly worked her way through. They were interesting snapshots into the mundanities of Muggle life, as if Bellatrix wasn't getting enough of that merely by staying in a hotel amongst them. By sixteen days in, she figured that Voldemort was either going to have found a solution or he wasn't, and she decided to go home.

She Apparated first to Casablanca, a bustling city in Morocco. She stayed only long enough to refresh herself with some mint tea and grape leaves, and then she Apparated on to Madrid in Spain. She was dizzy from the distance, and she wound up staying overnight in a plush hotel there, using counterfeit money since she didn't have Spanish coin. The next morning, she Apparated to Paris, a city she knew well from many instances of childhood travel. From there, she went to London, taking a few hours to relax in the familiar city and calming her nerves before she made the final leg - London to Marsham House.

When at last she came to in the lawn outside Marsham House, her suitcase in her hand, she knew that the wards would alert Voldemort that she had just Apparated onto the grounds. Sure enough, just a few moments later, the front door of the house was flung open, and he came dashing outside, wearing only a button-up black shirt and trousers. He practically ran toward Bellatrix, his face stoic as he declared,

"You're home."

"Did you miss me?" she asked, and he nodded silently. He shut his eyes and murmured again,

"You're home. Oh. You're home. I need to kiss you; sorry."

He shoved her suitcase away and wrapped her up in his arms, and right there in the freezing lawn, with Bellatrix wearing a sleeveless black dress and a lightweight traveling cloak, he kissed her for what felt like an eternity. He picked up her suitcase and took her hand, and as they walked inside, he said in a low voice,

"Chastity Serum."

"What?" Bellatrix asked, rather excitedly. They walked into the house, and Voldemort shut the door. He nodded and explained,

"It is of my own invention. Temperance Serum was invented to help control -"

"Alcoholism," Bellatrix nodded. "Cravings. It's used for addictions of all sorts, isn't it?"

"Yes. And with a little tweaking, I _think_ I've got it just so," Voldemort said. "Each dose of the serum lasts twelve hours and _should_ , if I got it right, quell those unbearable urges during the dosing period. So I can utilise it at any point wherein we have, say, a meeting, or any other occasion where a sudden need for sex is simply unacceptable. Then I simply do not take the serum when I want to allow for you and I to have an intimate existence."

Bellatrix grinned and took his face in her hands. She nodded. "You're brilliant. You brilliant man."

"Well," he said, "we have to try it and see. But I think I've got it right."

"Let's try," she suggested. "When can you take a dose?"

"Right now." He pulled out a little blue vial from his trouser pocket and unscrewed it. He put one drop onto his tongue and screwed the vial shut again. He shrugged. "And now we wait."

"And now we wait," Bellatrix smiled.

"Where did you go?" Voldemort asked, combing his fingers through her hair. "Your skin got tanned."

"The Canary Islands," Bellatrix said, and he nodded.

"I figured as much."

"You didn't come after me," she said, and he put up a brow.

"I've been busy. Oh. By the way… you missed quite the hullabaloo."

"Did I?" Bellatrix asked lightly, and Voldemort's eyes twinkled strangely.

"Ask me who the Minister for Magic is," he commanded her, and her stomach flopped. Her eyes went wide, and she whispered,

"Eugenia Jenkins is -"

"Ask me," he said again, bending to kiss her cheekbone, "who the Minister for Magic is."

"Who's the Minister for Magic?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort smirked.

"Minister Corban Yaxley, of course," he said. He backed away a little, nodded, and said, "Welcome home."

 **Author's Note: *Gasp* Minister Yaxley? Bet Dumbledore's not too happy about that. Will Voldemort's invented serum work? AM I DONE WRITING FOR TONIGHT? (Yes, to answer that last question). Thank you so so so so so so very much for reading and a massive thanks to all who have reviewed during these crazy updates.**


	8. Make The Hours Seem Short

_ALBUS DUMBLEDORE FILES FORMAL COMPLAINT AGAINST MINISTER YAXLEY! In a move that concerned his friends and caused his detractors to label him 'unstable' and 'deteriorating,' Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore issued a formal complaint within the Wizengamot against Minister for Magic Corban Yaxley, alleging that Yaxley utilised 'unjust, dishonest, and even illegal means to seize the reins of authority.' When asked about these allegations, Minister Yaxley stated the following:_

' _The Wizengamot removed Minister Jenkins from her post because our community has experienced a period of profound instability as of late. Many crave a steadier life for wizarding Britain, with less conflict. I was placed into the position of Minister out of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement because the Wizengamot entrusts me to bring our society to a place of peace. And that is exactly what I promise to do. No complaint or paranoia will distract me from the task at hand.'_

 _The Council For Complaints, which processes formal registered comments within the Wizengamot, dismissed Dumbledore's concerns and stated that Minister Yaxley is predicted to help right the ship of wizarding Britain in a way Eugenia Jenkins could not. When asked how the new government will handle the spectre of Lord Voldemort, the feared and shadowy figure Dumbledore mentioned repeatedly in his written complaint, Minister Yaxley said,_

' _Rather than fight against a single man like Lord Voldemort, my government will seek to work with all those who seek prosperity for wizarding Britain. Our priority is peace. Our priority is prosperity, comfort, and happiness for the true inhabitants of wizarding Britain. Why Albus Dumbledore is opposed to these goals, I do not know. His paranoia is troubling. I will speak with him personally later today, and hopefully he and I can work something out as gentlemen.'_

 _With his calm demeanour and steady head, Minister Yaxley's ascent is welcomed by nearly all. Even those most staunchly associated with Albus Dumbledore have difficulty defending his exact concerns. For now, Albus Dumbledore appears to stand very much alone._

Voldemort smirked as he set down his copy of the newspaper. He had minds and quills at the _Daily Prophet_ now, and it showed. The reality was that plenty of people agreed with Albus Dumbledore. Minerva McGonagall and even Horace Slughorn had loudly vocalised their support for Dumbledore's complaint. They'd attempted to testify before the Wizengamot. But Voldemort's Imperiused numbers in the government had swelled through Rookwood's and Yaxley's efforts, and now Yaxley had been installed as Voldemort's puppet. His media placements had been able to shut up any stories about support for Dumbledore and instead only publish stories painting Yaxley as a cool, calm moderate.

They would move slowly. One law at a time, interspersed with many other pieces of more pleasant legislation, the Yaxley administration would chip away at the ability of Mudbloods to live in wizarding Britain. The property, jobs, and homes of Mudbloods would be transferred to Half-Bloods and then to Purebloods. Half-Bloods would be incentivised to marry other Half-Bloods with monetary rewards in order to create new, less elite Pureblood families. Mudbloods would be legally forbidden from marriage at all, then from attending Hogwarts, then from employment, then from wand ownership. Over time, a personality cult would be established for Lord Voldemort. Finally, the office of the Minister of Magic would be eradicated entirely, and the whole of wizarding Britain would exist under the reign of the Dark Lord. All of this would take years, but Voldemort was patient. He could wait. He would wait. He would minimise resistance by waiting.

"My Lord?"

He looked up from his desk in his office at Marsham House and held up the _Daily Prophet_ as Bellatrix came walking in with a small folded parchment in her hand. She smiled a bit as she saw the large headline, and she took the paper, reading the story carefully. She grinned and said,

"They did a fine job spinning the story, didn't they? Makes it sound like absolutely no one agrees with him. With Dumbledore. Makes him sound batty."

"Control the newspaper, and you control the minds of the public," Voldemort noted with a shrug. "What's that you've got there?"

"Lucius was very intelligent," Bellatrix said. "Instead of him writing directly to you, he had Narcissa send an owl to me."

"Clever boy," Voldemort said, curling up his lips. "And? What did he say?"

Bellatrix passed over the folded parchment. Voldemort opened it, and upon it was one simple word. _Yes._

"Yes." Voldemort folded the parchment again and creased it with his fingers, his heart accelerating. "That means the room is working for him. That means he's got the Cloak and the room is working for him. Soon enough he'll… he'll…"

"Dumbledore will be dead," Bellatrix grinned. Voldemort felt a hot flush in his veins. His Chastity Serum had been working well when he needed it to work, but he hadn't dosed himself today, for it was a Sunday and he was home alone with Bellatrix. Now, after the excitement of the newspaper article and finding out from Lucius Malfoy that the plan to kill Dumbledore was going well, he was hungry. He set the parchment down and stared at Bellatrix, and his mind whirled. He gulped and told her,

"I need you."

"Now?" She smiled crookedly, and he nodded.

"Now."

"All right." She actually reached up under the wide black skirt she wore, and Voldemort was shocked to see her slide down a pair of knickers over her hips and knees. She was freer with sex when they did have it now, he noticed. She wasn't afraid of it now, because it no longer felt like something that existed beyond their control. It felt like a ship they steered, an activity of their own devising. Bellatrix glided her black lace knickers over her ankles and bare feet, and then she held them up on one finger and let them fall to the floor.

"Bellatrix," Voldemort huffed, feeling his cock go quite hard inside his trousers. Bellatrix whispered provocatively,

"I'm wet."

"Bellatrix." Voldemort pushed himself up to stand, and as he approached her, she breathed quickly and deeply, her full lips parted, and she murmured gently,

"So wet for you, Master."

Voldemort peeled off his robe, letting it fall and pool around his feet on the floor, and he yanked his shirt out from the waist of his trousers. He began to unbutton them, and as he walked up to Bellatrix, he instructed her,

"Blouse off."

"Yes, Master." She unbuttoned her black blouse one button at a time, taking entirely too long to do it. She was torturing him, unfastening the buttons at a snail's pace, revealing the gentle swells of her breasts and then the pale, creamy, flat stomach beneath the fabric. Voldemort grew frustrated and put his hands on the sides of the blouse, wrenching it down over her arms as he growled,

"I said _off_."

She smiled at him and wriggled out of the blouse, and he tipped his head.

"Sorry; is it funny?"

"No, but it's fun," she said, tossing the blouse aside. He unfastened her black lace bra and threw it halfway across the room, and then he wrapped his palm and fingers around the soft curve of her breast. He squeezed rather roughly, thumbing at the hardened peak of her nipple, and she tipped her head back and groaned a little. Voldemort bent and kissed her, swallowing up her moans, and he tasted grapefruit on her lips. He threaded his left fingers into her curls and clenched at her scalp, and then his left hand traveled to the small of her back and pulled her close.

"You're so hard." Bellatrix reached between them after ripping her mouth from his, and her fingers started to pull at his trousers and underwear, seeking to free his cock from its cruel confines. She finally liberated him, stroking mercifully with long and gentle caressing movements. He shivered and whispered,

"On the desk. On the desk, Bella."

"Yes." She started backing toward the desk, her hands still moving on him, and he kissed her as they stumbled a bit. She shoved his trousers down past his buttocks to get them out of the way. One of her hands played with his balls for a moment, and Voldemort grunted at the feel. He took her tiny waist in his hands and hoisted her up onto his desk, and he insisted,

"I want you to lie down and put your ankles on my shoulders, Bellatrix. I'm going to pound you into oblivion."

"That sounds terrifying," she said with a grin, but her eyes glinted, and he knew she was excited. His fingers went between her thighs, and she hadn't been joking. Wet. She was so, so wet. He had to play with her for a moment, then, feeling drawn like a magnet to the satin slick of her folds. He massaged her, kissing her, bending as she lay back. He ground his thumb and fingers roughly against her clit, and when he moved his mouth to Bellatrix's neck, she arched her back up against the stout desk and declared,

"Going to come. Ahhh… oh, Master. Oh. _Oh_."

"Do it." He clamped his mouth hard on her neck then and nibbled her through the kiss, sucking and biting at her and thinking of the mark he'd leave. That seemed to send her over an unseen edge, and suddenly he felt squeezes around his fingers. Erratic clamping hugged his middle and forefinger, and she twitched against his thumb. She gasped and let out a wordless plea, holding his head as he ravaged her neck, and then all he could do was reach for his cock. He grasped his shaft and shoved himself roughly into her body, and when he'd sheathed himself, he just waited, soaking in the feel of her snug and hot around him. He breathed for a long moment against her neck, and then he stood up.

He lifted her legs, determined to truly _fuck_ her. She was still recovering from her climax, her eyes shut and her bare chest heaving and flushed pink. Her neck was already bruising, which pleased Voldemort immensely. Her fingers grasped for purchase at the polished wood of the desk, and her hair billowed out about her like a beautiful Dark halo. He stared down at her for a long moment, buried within her, holding her ankles at his shoulders, and he whispered,

"I adore you."

"Master, I love you with all that I am," she mumbled back, but she was breathless and seemed a little impatient, too. He dragged his thumbs over her ankles and then moved his hands to her hips, knowing he'd need the leverage. His fingertips dug into her flesh there, and he whispered,

"Hold on tight, pretty little creature."

He began to move then, slowly at first. In and out, in and out, in and out. He slid like a machine, and still she cried out from how deeply and profoundly he filled her. When he sped up, his movements became jerky, uneven, and she began to arch and moan. He pinned her hips to the desk and held fast, steadying her against the rough motions he was inflicting upon her tiny form. After awhile, what he was doing could only be described as _fucking_. There was no other word for it; he was thrashing against her with such violent vigour that any other word would have minimised what he was doing to her. He was fucking her. Hard. She liked it, too; she was holding onto his forearms and squeezing, her eyes wrenched shut, her breath coming in shallow pants from her parted lips.

"Bellatrix," Voldemort groaned through clenched teeth, knowing he was seconds away from coming. When he felt her clenching again, felt her second climax wash over her like a wave, all hope was lost. He was sweating into his eyes, and his lungs were burning from the exertion of all of this, and still he wanted more, but it was over. He was spent, spilling himself into her, pumping his come almost desperately as he collapsed onto his hands on the desk. He hovered over her and felt his shirt sticking to him, felt his cock twitching inside of her, and he watched her go limp.

"Master," she said in a hoarse, thirsty voice, her face falling to the side. Her skirt was rumpled up around her waist, and her nipples had softened, and her hair was damp around her temples. They were exhausted, messy, and it was the most magnificent thing to ever happen, Voldemort thought. He finally let his body detach from hers, and as he tucked himself away and helped her off the desk, he said almost numbly,

"I think it feels better when it isn't… when the idea of it isn't unnerving."

"Agreed." Bellatrix visibly trembled as she reached for her bra and her blouse. She started to put herself to rights, and Voldemort thought to himself that this was what _good sex_ was. He dragged his fingers through his hair, his sweaty and greying and thinning hair, and he mumbled,

"Soon Dumbledore will be dead, and my worst enemy will be out of my way, and the path will be clearer."

"The path will be clearer, Master," Bellatrix agreed with a little smile, buttoning up her blouse. She sighed and reached for her wand, and she declared, "Never have there been two people more in need of Scouring spells. _Scourgify._ "

 **Author's Note: Cold shower, anyone? Okay, so Yaxley's in power and Lucius is primed to kill Dumbledore. But will that go smoothly? Yes, no, maybe so? We'll see!**


	9. Untimely Ripped

Bellatrix sat straight up and gasped for breath. In the bright light of the morning, she sobbed and shook roughly at the sleeping form beside her.

"My Lord!" she cried. "Wake up! My Lord!"

He grunted and then rolled over, and she insisted,

"Please wake up! It's urgent. Please!"

Voldemort sat up, abruptly alert, and scratched at his hair. "What's wrong?"

"Please; you have to look into my head!" Bellatrix cried. "I've had a dream. A vision. I know it's a vision. I know it's a premonition. Please look into my head. Please."

Voldemort's eyes went round as saucers, and he whispered carefully, " _Legilimens._ "

Bellatrix shoved forth the dream that had set her to crying, and she shut her eyes and let it play out in her mind as Voldemort watched.

 _Albus Dumbledore sat up in his bed, reaching for the half moon spectacles he kept beside his bed._

' _Who's there?' he mumbled in a drowsy voice. He reached for his thin, knobby wand and pulled himself out of the bed, listening to the rustling sound near his bathroom door. He scowled. 'Homenum Revelio.'_

 _There was a shiver and a glow in the air, and Dumbledore was about to cast a spell when a voice murmured,_

' _Avada… Av… Avada…'_

' _Stupefy!' cried Dumbledore, and suddenly the figure of Lucius Malfoy appeared in his school robes, slumped against the wall, a crumpled burgundy cloak on the floor where it had slipped off of him. Dumbledore hovered over the boy and aimed his wand down at him, and he said in shock, 'Legilimens.'_

Voldemort pulled out of Bellatrix's head, and she stared at him as his lips fell apart. He shook his head and whispered,

"The boy can't murder. Not yet. He's still too young."

"You could Imperius him," Bellatrix suggested, but Voldemort shrugged.

"I can't access him… not until a Hogsmeade day at soonest. I need you to go write to your sister at once. Be discreet. Call it off. Go, Bella. Now."

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix dashed out of the bed and ran down the stairs, hurrying into his office. She pulled out a sheet of parchment and a self inking quill, and her fingers shook as she wrote,

 _Cissy,_

 _Tell Lucius the answer is NO. The answer is NO._

 _B_

She opened the office window and snapped her fingers a few times until the big brown owl that hung around the house came flying by and landed on the sill. She rolled up the parchment, tied it to the owl's leg, and insisted,

"Fly as quickly as you can to Hogwarts. Get that to Narcissa Black. Narcissa Black at Hogwarts."

The owl, which was swift and clever, flew off into the sunny morning, and Bellatrix watched as it disappeared over the trees. She shut the window and shivered in the cold, and when she turned round, Voldemort was standing in the office doorway, tying a dressing gown round his waist. He shrugged and insisted,

"He's too young. Fourteen. Asking him to sneak into the private quarters of the most powerful wizard on -"

" _You_ are the most powerful wizard on Earth, My Lord," Bellatrix said firmly, and Voldemort gave her a mirthless little smile. He approached her and said,

"We need a better plan. One that involves getting Dumbledore the hell out of Hogwarts. He's too protected there. And, anyway, I want someone else in as Headmaster. I want one of _mine_ in as Headmaster. Abraxas Malfoy, perhaps. He's on the Hogwarts Board of Governors. I can have him Imperius the rest of the Board. In a few months, by the end of term at soonest, we can have Dumbledore removed from the school under the idea that his protests against the Ministry are foolish at best and dangerous at worst. He's gone batty and needs replacing."

"End of term?" Bellatrix raised her brows. "Master, we don't know what he knows about your Horcruxes. That vision I had of him destroying the diadem… I don't know when it happened!"  
"It's why I need to get him out of the school," Voldemort growled, and Bellatrix narrowed her eyes.

"What?"

"The bloody diadem is hidden in the blasted school!" Voldemort exclaimed loudly, and Bellatrix's jaw dropped.

"Oh." She nodded. She shut her eyes and whispered, "I shall keep that secret safe."

"I need to work to destroy his public image," Voldemort said. "Smear pieces in the _Prophet_. Malfoy spreading rumours and Imperiusing the Board. A few of my Death Eaters' students alleging gross unfairness by the Headmaster against Slytherin students. Things like that. We'll remove him. It'll be much easier to kill him when he's living in a house somewhere. I'll kill him myself."

"Lucius would fail. I can feel it." Bellatrix nodded. "I'm sorry. I misread him. I told you that he had it in him, but he doesn't."

"He's just too young," Voldemort said lightly, "but there will be another way. I will see Albus Dumbledore dead, and he will not destroy my Horcruxes. I promise you that."

"Yes, Master," Bellatrix said, but she felt profoundly uneasy.

* * *

"Bella? An owl just came with a letter for you," called Voldemort five days later, walking into the conservatory. She was reading _Lilacs at Dawn_ , another sappy romance by the same author who'd written _Roses For Clementine_. She set the book down and took the envelope from Voldemort, recognising her mother's script at once. She frowned and broke the seal on the back, the Black family seal, and pulled out the little card inside.

 _Bellatrix,_

 _Please come to our house as soon as you possibly can. I'm afraid it's terribly urgent._

 _Mummy_

"Something's wrong," Bellatrix said, her stomach sinking. She looked up at Voldemort, handing him the card. He read it and frowned very deeply.

"I'm coming with you," he said. "I don't feel good about this."

Bellatrix nodded and rose, walking with Voldemort out toward the front of Marsham House. They put their heavy traveling cloaks and leather gloves on, and Bellatrix mumbled,

"I hope my father's not dead or something."

"Let's not speculate," Voldemort suggested, but he took out his wand just the same. Bellatrix did the same, and she nodded at him just before the two of them Disapparated. They came to outside the Black family townhouse in London, and Voldemort knocked quite firmly on the door. It opened so quickly that Bellatrix thought perhaps the House-Elf had been standing there waiting for them. They stepped inside, and the House-Elf went dashing off, calling,

"Mistress Druella! They have come!"

Bellatrix pulled off her gloves and tucked them into her pockets, but Voldemort kept his on. He seemed on edge as Druella Black came rushing out of the back parlour, her face swollen from spent tears. She curtsied to Voldemort and bowed her head, and she whispered,

"My Lord. I wasn't… erm… wasn't expecting you to come with her. Welcome."

"Shall I go?" Voldemort asked crisply, but Druella insisted,

"Please… I'll have the elf get you some tea in the -"

"What's going on, Mummy?" Bellatrix asked sharply. Druella let out a shaking sigh, and she looked between Voldemort and Bellatrix as she hissed,

"It's Narcissa. Cygnus and I had to go to Hogwarts this morning to fetch her. She'd been ill, but… My Lord, if I may have Bellatrix speak alone with Narcissa? She wishes to discuss it with her sister in private. Bella, just go back to the parlour. My Lord, I'll speak with you."

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes, but she nodded and walked slowly down the marble-floored corridor, leaving Voldemort with her frantic mother. Bellatrix entered the back parlour, and there she found Narcissa, dressed in a long black lace gown, staring out the window looking numb.

"Hullo, Bella," said Narcissa, her long blonde hair tumbling down her back in waves. Bellatrix sat in a chair across from the sofa where Narcissa was, and she asked,

"What sort of sickness have you got?"

"I'm pregnant," Narcissa whispered, her voice as thin as a string. She touched her knuckles to her lips and said, "Don't worry; Lucius got your message before I left school. The mission was called off. He doesn't know about this, though. I dunno. Maybe someone's told him."

"Pregnant," Bellatrix scoffed. "You can't be pregnant. You're fourteen."

"Almost fifteen. A witch grown, Mummy says. She says I've decided that for myself." Narcissa's pretty pale eyes welled, and then she shut them as she said softly, "Lucius thought he was going to die. He thought Dumbledore would kill him, or that he'd be sent to Azkaban. So we… he didn't want to die a virgin."

Bellatrix gaped, shaking her head and throwing her hands up in shock. "Why didn't you protect yourself?"

"I didn't think it could happen the first time," Narcissa shrugged, and Bellatrix's eyes practically bugged out. She took a steadying breath and said as calmly as she could,

"Don't worry. There are potions for this. We can fix this."

"No. You can't kill a Pureblood baby, Mum says," Narcissa whispered. "She says there are all sorts of people who want a good Pureblood baby, even a bastard. She and Daddy are going to find a family, a good Pureblood family who will take the baby."

"And, what, you're to stay home and just be sequestered and pregnant? Birth the baby and then give it up and then go back to school?" Bellatrix asked disbelievingly. "This is ridiculous? You are _fourteen!_ "

"He thought he was going to die!" Narcissa cried, finally turning her porcelain face to Bellatrix. She looked like a child, Bellatrix thought in horror. She looked like a delicate flower, like her name implied. She couldn't be pregnant. She simply couldn't be. It didn't matter if someone else would take the baby away; Narcissa couldn't bear and birth another human. She was a child herself.

"This is ridiculous," Bellatrix said again, and Narcissa shrugged.

"I'm sorry. The Dark Lord is going to be terribly angry with me, isn't he?"

"I think he's going to be utterly horrified," Bellatrix predicted. "Angry? No. Disgusted? Yes, probably. I wish you would just end it and -"

"Mum said that Mr Avery has a new wife, a witch who never married until she was forty," Narcissa said quickly. "And she would like a baby, probably."

Bellatrix's stomach sank. Avery's new wife? Nadine Goyle? The spinster he'd married after Voldemort had murdered Etheline Avery? This was who was going to take Narcissa's baby? Bellatrix shut her eyes.

"I can't do this. I need to go home. I'm so sorry for you, Cissy. So sorry." Bellatrix rose and touched at Narcissa's shoulder, and she yanked her gloves out of her pockets and shoved them onto her hands. She walked briskly out of the back parlour and out through the corridor, and she called,

"Master, I'd like to go now."

Voldemort rose from where he was sitting with a softly crying Druella, and he looked as though he entirely understood her need to leave. He glanced back to Druella and said quite sharply,

"Stay in touch. Make no contracts without asking my permission."

"Yes, My Lord," Druella said, wringing her hands. She made a move to embrace Bellatrix, but Bellatrix shook her head and pulled away, and she whispered,

"I need to go."

She grasped at Voldemort's hand, afraid she'd Splinch right now, and she begged him,

"Take me home, please."

He did, Disapparating with an uncharacteristic _crack_.

 **Author's Note: LUCIUS! You didn't have it in you to kill Dumbledore AND you knocked up your little girlfriend? What the heck, dude? Poor Narcissa, amirite? Will Voldemort be able to remove Dumbledore from Hogwarts before Bellatrix's vision about the diadem comes to be? Hmm...**


	10. Let Us Assay Our Plot

_MINISTER YAXLEY SIGNS HALF-BLOOD MARRIAGE INCENTIVE LAW. On Friday, Minister for Magic Corban Yaxley signed into law the Matrimony Incentive Act, commonly referred to as the MIA. The MIA is a law intended on 'strengthening the bonds between Magical persons so that their offspring have the most powerful Magical potential possible, and ensuring that the Magical community has ongoing diversity in its Pureblood community.'_

 _Whilst the most elite and best-known Pureblood families fall into the category of the so-called 'Sacred Twenty-Eight,' there are many Purebloods whose families do not belong to this register. The goal of the MIA is to add to these ranks - the ranks of people with two sturdily Magical parents. In time, Minister Yaxley says, this aim will not only increase but also strengthen the ranks of the Magical Community._

 _So, what can be expected from the law? In order to qualify, both parties entering into a marriage must be Half-Bloods. That is to say, the groom must come from a Magical background on one side and a Muggle background on the other. The same goes for the bride. One might apply for special qualification dispensation if both of one's parents were Muggle-born witches and wizards. All of these qualifications matters will be handled by the newly-established MIA liaison within the Office of Marriages, Births, Deaths, and Divorces._

 _Once both the bride and groom have qualified under the Matrimony Incentive Act and have filed a Ministry marriage licence, they will receive a one-time bonus of one thousand Galleons, along with an annual incentive of five hundred Galleons for the first three years of marriage. This, Minister Yaxley says, may help some persons make 'wiser choices in choosing a potential partner, choices that benefit not only themselves but the community at large.'_

 _The law was signed on Friday and becomes effective on Tuesday next, when the MIA liaison, Josephine Shacklebolt, will open her office for new applications. Interested parties are encouraged to contact her directly._

Voldemort set down his copy of the newspaper as a cold March rain poured outside his office in Malfoy Manor. He sipped at his oolong tea and smirked a little. Things were beginning to happen now. Pieces were beginning to move. Abraxas Malfoy had spent the last five weeks Imperiusing members of the Hogwarts Board of Governors. There had been a massive feature piece in the _Prophet_ with interviews conducted during a Hogsmeade visit - Slytherin students anonymously accusing their headmaster of gross favouritism toward Gryffindors at the expense of other students. And the media had continued to paint Dumbledore's objections to Yaxley's presence in the Ministry as a sign of Dumbledore's own insanity.

Pieces were moving. Things were falling into place. But Voldemort would be patient.

"Enter," he said sharply at the sound of knocking on his door. He snapped to attention when the door opened and a petite, blonde-haired young witch stood in his threshold.

"Narcissa," he said as warmly as he could, and he stood politely. "Do come in."

"Thank you, My Lord." She was beginning to show now, which was profoundly uncomfortable to witness given how young she was. She wore her hair pulled tightly back in a braid, and she wore thick, draping robes in dark purple that were cut to show the little swell of her belly. Even in her daughter's shameful convalescence, Druella Black would never have Narcissa wearing anything but the finest from Twillfit and Tattings, Voldemort thought to himself. He gulped and wandlessly pushed out the chair on the other side of his desk, and Narcissa sat. He sat in his own chair and asked,

"How did you get here from your parents' house?"

"My mum and dad came here for tea with Mr and Mrs Malfoy," Narcissa explained. "They let me come with them. I decided to come and speak with you, since I have not yet had the chance."

Voldemort frowned and nodded. It was so odd to him that this child was his sister, that she was bearing a baby herself. He huffed an angry breath at the thought of it all, and he asked,

"What do you need?"

"I would like to ask you to please be merciful toward Lucius, sir," Narcissa said, and her wide, pale eyes welled up. Voldemort scowled.

"Merciful?"

"I assume you mean to punish him," Narcissa guessed, "for what he's gone and done to me. And there must be some reason why the mission with Dumbledore was called off. But I wish for you to know, sir, that Lucius wants nothing in all the world but to be a Death Eater. He would fling himself from a tower if he couldn't become one. It's all he wants in his life, sir… to serve you. He is so dedicated to you. So incredibly dedicated to you. I wanted you to know that."

She held onto her growing little belly and sighed, as if she were very tired after saying all that, and Voldemort didn't know how to respond for a long moment. Finally he just said softly,

"There will be a place in my ranks for Lucius Malfoy as soon as he comes of age. And for you, Narcissa, should you want it for yourself. Your own loyalty is very evident."

She raised her eyes and smiled a little, and she nodded.

"I'm not a soldier," she whispered. "I'm not like Bella. But I'll serve you in whatever way I can."

"I know." He rapped his fingers on his desk and promised her, "We'll get a good home for the child. Avery says his wife Nadine does indeed want a baby. They would take very good care of the creature, I assure you. And soon enough afterward, you'll be well again, and you'll go back to school. You and Lucius will spy for me until you become Death Eaters, and I dare say one day you'll marry one another and have a legitimate child or six or your own."

She looked elated to hear him say that, and she nodded as she stared down at her belly. She whispered gently,

"I think I love him."

Voldemort shifted where he sat, very uncomfortable to hear a little girl talk about love like that, but then Narcissa raised her eyes and said in a cold, determined tone that suddenly made her resemble her sister a bit,

"We'll be your servants. Lucius and I. Forever."

Voldemort turned up half his mouth and nodded. "Go have some tea, Narcissa."

* * *

"Bella?" Voldemort came striding into the bathroom, feeling more alive than he'd felt in many years. Bellatrix was taking a shower, but she called over the water,

"Yes, Master?"

"Have you seen the _Daily Prophet_ today?" Voldemort asked rather merrily, and Bellatrix shut the water off. He stuffed a towel into the shower, and when she peeled the curtain back, wrapped up in the towel, he handed her the newspaper. She read the headline, and then her jaw dropped and she laughed aloud. Her hair was dripping all over, but neither of them cared.

" _HOGWARTS BOARD OF GOVERNORS VOTES TO REMOVE ALBUS DUMBLEDORE_ ," she read in awe. She stepped out into the bathroom, dripping all over the tile, and she read the story in a mumble. " _After last week's shocking allegation that Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore had encouraged teachers to take House points away from Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff and unduly grant them to Gryffindor, a formal inquisition was opened into the administration of Albus Dumbledore. The Hogwarts Board of Governors found many instances of gross misconduct, ranging from safety infractions in the school to special preferences granted to the relatives of Dumbledore's friends._

' _Then,' said Hamish MacLachlan, a Board member, 'there is the matter of Dumbledore's recent focus on Ministry matters. He has been so vocal and so alone in protesting the Minister for Magic that he hasn't even been focusing on the welfare of Hogwarts.'_

 _Some question whether the famously skilled and brilliant Albus Dumbledore has ever really been the same since his notorious duel with Gellert Grindelwald. Whilst long considered an eccentric, some worry that as Dumbledore enters his ninth decade of life, perhaps his faculties are devolving a bit._

' _I think Dumbledore's simply not the right man to be administering the school,' said Board member Abraxas Malfoy. 'I don't like to be so blunt, but it's as simple as that. He's not exhibited the mental or moral fitness to tend to the emotional or educational needs of the students. It is time for him to retire comfortably.'_

 _The Board of Governors voted unanimously to remove Albus Dumbledore from his post, and word is that he has already - quite unwillingly - left the school. In the meantime, Board President Abraxas Malfoy has taken over as Interim Headmaster, since there had, oddly, been no named Deputy Headmaster or Headmistress. With Interim Headmaster Malfoy installed, the rumour is that Dumbledore has retreated to a home he kept in Godric's Hollow._

Bellatrix tossed the newspaper down and suddenly ripped her towel away from her body. She grasped at Voldemort's face and yanked him down, and he grunted in surprise as he seized her waist and kissed her hard. He squeezed at a breast and then whispered,

"Pieces are moving. We'll get him now. Malfoy's in charge at Hogwarts. Yaxley's passing laws. Pieces are moving."

"You will be everything, Master," Bellatrix mumbled against his lips, and as he heaved her up into a cradle, making his way out of the bathroom and toward the bedroom where he intended on ravaging her, he corrected her,

" _We_ will be everything."

 **Author's Note: Huh. Well, things are looking up for Lord Voldemort. And when things look up for Lord Voldemort in my stories, nothing ever goes wrong. Right?**


	11. I Have Had A Most Rare Vision

A week.

It had been a week, and still no one could find Albus Dumbledore. _WHERE IS DUMBLEDORE?_ the newspaper had implored, though Voldemort had insisted that the media was to stay quiet on the matter of his disappearance. He'd organised a squad of Death Eaters - Mulciber, Avery, Nott, and the Carrows - whose explicit directive was to find Albus Dumbledore. But for a week they'd searched, and they'd found nothing.

They'd practically torn Godric's Hollow upside-down looking for the man, and then they'd begun to search other Magical communities. By now, they were hunting through forests, looking in little Muggle villages, and Bellatrix was beginning to believe something that would spell doom.

"My Lord," she said one uncharacteristically frigid day at the tail end of March, walking into the conservatory where he sat staring out the window, "Is it possible he's left the country?"

"Of course that's possible," Voldemort murmured. "Anything is possible. The man is nothing if not a coward. Gryffindor bravado… pah. Albus Dumbledore has always fled at the first threat of death. He fears it more than I do. He knows damned well that I'm responsible for removing him from Hogwarts. He knows damned well that if I find him, I'll kill him. So… has he left Britain? Yes. Probably."

He raised his eyes to Bellatrix and shrugged a little.

"But if he's left Britain, he can't access my Horcruxes, can he? The best we can do, whilst my squad searches for him, is make Britain absolutely hostile to a living Albus Dumbledore. If he's gone, we must make it so that he can't come back."

Bellatrix's stomach twinged with unease, but she nodded. She sat beside Voldemort on the wrought iron sofa and told him,

"Cissy says she felt the baby stir within her. She wrote to me about it."

Voldemort's lip curled up, and he sneered, "Nasty business."

"So it is," Bellatrix agreed. "She's just a little girl."

"Even you are entirely too young for such things as that," Voldemort said dismissively, but Bellatrix grinned and reminded him,

"I'm eighteen, My Lord. Most Pureblood witches marry at eighteen, and many are with child not long thereafter. You married me when I was sixteen."

He shut his eyes and scoffed a little. "So much life to live ahead of you. I cannot fathom you weighed down by the consequence of another entire being."

"Well, I'm sterilised," Bellatrix reminded him. "And, anyway, I don't ever really want children, if it's all the same to you."

"It's all the same to me," he smirked. He shook his head. "I've no desire to father a mewling little beast, thank you."

"Well, that's settled, then." Bellatrix curled up alongside him, and as he put his arm round her, she asked him seriously, "What did it feel like to marry me when I was that young? Did you think I was an idiot?"

"No." Voldemort kept staring out the window, and he said, "I could tell you were incredibly bright, very insightful. But I admit that when I drew up the contract, your personality had absolutely no bearing on anything. All that mattered to me was having a bride from the Black family. Climbing."

"I see. So it could have been anybody - a Malfoy girl, had there been one available - and you would have done the same," Bellatrix said. Voldemort turned his face to her and frowned in confusion.

"I love you," he said. "I love you now so much that it causes me literal pain sometimes to think on it. But I married you for political reasons. For reasons of ambition. Let neither of us deceive ourselves into believing that you walked down the aisle to me to consecrate a marriage of love. Do not let your current emotions colour our past. We were first wed under the strictest definition of an arranged marriage, Bellatrix."

She blinked a few times, realising how correct he was. It never felt that way anymore. It felt like they were puzzle pieces pushed together, like they were a planet with a moon orbiting it. But she remembered now the fear that had struck her through as her father had led her down the aisle, as she'd stared through her veil at the much older man waiting to become her husband. She had not loved him that day. She remembered now.

"How strange," she whispered, "to try and recall not loving you."

He curled up his lips and tucked her hair behind her ear, and he leaned down to kiss her lips carefully. He touched his forehead to hers and said quietly,

"Your sister and Lucius Malfoy will be Death Eaters for me once they've grown up. I'd like you to keep her happy. Keep her from becoming despondent in this situation. Take her a gift of some kind, from the both of us, with the Dark Lord's and Lady's best wishes on a healthy and happy convalescence."

Bellatrix pulled back from him and sighed, nodding.

"You are merciful," she told him, "and wise. You were born for this, Master."

She squeezed at his hand then and rose, walking quickly out of the conservatory.

* * *

"So they still haven't found him?" Narcissa plopped another pistachio macaron into her mouth, and Bellatrix shook her head. She'd brought Narcissa a basket of sweets baked up by Tippy, the House-Elf at Marsham House. Narcissa sipped some tea and wondered,

"Has he fled Britain?"

"That's the prevailing theory," Bellatrix said uncomfortably. "If the bastard ever sets foot in Britain again, though, we'll find him. The Dark Lord's got a squad dedicated to tracking him down. They're working constantly on it."

"Good." Narcissa reached for another macaron and then shoved the basket away. "Oh, I must stop or I'll be sick. Bella, you spoil me with these sweets."

"The Dark Lord and I want you to be very happy during these months you must spend all cooped up," Bellatrix said carefully. "It's important to him that you know he realises your discomfort, and that you are aware that your sacrifice is recognised. After all, though you are so terribly young, this situation is a blessing in disguise. A Pureblood baby will come of all this, and a Pureblood family who had no child will have one. You and Lucius will marry when you're old enough, and eventually you'll have right-born children of your own."

Narcissa chewed her bite of macaron and smiled shyly. She reached into the little purse around her waist and pulled something out, something gold and shiny. Bellatrix frowned a bit as she took the ring from Narcissa. It was just a gold band with three small diamonds in a row at the top. As she studied it, Narcissa informed her,

"Lucius sent it to me. He used some of his saved allowance money and sent away to a jeweller in Knockturn Alley, and then he sent it to me. It's not a formal engagement, and of course Daddy and Mr Malfoy will have to draw up a contract. But it's a promise, he says. He adores me, he says, and he promises that someday he'll be my husband. He says we'll live together in Malfoy Manor, and we'll have children, and we'll serve the Dark Lord. And, Bella, do you know… that's the happiest life I can possibly imagine."

Bellatrix's eyes burned a little as she stared at her sister, at her ever-swelling belly, and she passed the ring back.

"Well, that was terribly thoughtful of Lucius," she said. "And I've every confidence in the world that you and he will spend a long and happy life together. In Malfoy Manor, with your children, serving the Dark Lord."

Narcissa grinned, popping the rest of the macaron into her mouth. She chewed it, washed it down with some more tea, and said very gratefully,

"Thank you so much for visiting me, Bella. How lucky I am to have a sister like you."

Bellatrix felt uncomfortable then for some reason, so she stood and lied,

"I've got loads to do, I'm afraid. I can't stay. I wanted to bring you the sweets. I hope you stay feeling well. I'll visit again soon."

"Yes." Narcissa pulled herself up, cradling the little swell of her belly, and she nodded. "Yes. Do come again soon. Mummy gets insufferable after some time, as you well know."

Bellatrix nodded and leaned to kiss her sister's forehead. "Be well, Cissy."

* * *

 _Narcissa was lying still and silent on the floor of the cramped cottage, her enormous belly curved up before her. A few wizards stalked around her form, and one weak-looking one said to a ginger-haired one,_

' _I'm not going to murder a pregnant… girl. I mean. Look, Arthur; she's just a girl. And she's pregnant.'_

' _I know.' Arthur nodded fervently. 'We'll have to be careful not to harm her. But she's our best hope of drawing them into a trap.'_

 _The meek-looking wizard scowled. 'Dumbledore says -'_

' _Dumbledore's gone mad!' hissed a stooped, older wizard. 'He sends orders from Paris with no clue of what's happening here. He speaks of diadems hidden in the castle, diadems containing souls, hidden in rooms that only appear during desperate need. He rambles like a madman, and you want to keep orders from him? We won't defeat Lord Vol -'_

' _Don't say his name!' cried the thin, wheezy young wizard, and the ginger one, Arthur, declared,_

' _Dumbledore's time is over. Let him stay in France. He told us not to take prisoners, but I'll tell you this, Ted. I'll not have my own family sacrificed because we're so-called Blood Traitors. Do you want Andy arrested under the new law?'_

' _No, of course not,' said Ted, and Arthur declared,_

' _We'll keep her safe. Bellatrix and Lord Voldemort will both come for her. And when they do, we'll fight them. We'll defeat him.'_

' _You'll never defeat him without Dumbledore,' worried Ted, and the older wizard muttered,_

' _Shut up, the both of you; she's waking up!'_

Bellatrix gasped and sat up straight, crying out in horror.

"Bella?" Voldemort reached quickly for his wand beside her. "What's wrong?"

"Look in my head!" she exclaimed. "Quick! Quickly, look in my head!"

He frowned, adjusting his grip on his wand, and he incanted in a trembling voice,

" _Legilimens._ "

 **Author's Note: Well, that may be the most significant vision yet besides that Harry Potter one, eh? We now know that, no more than seven or so months in the future, Dumbledore's hiding in Paris, that there's been a law passed to arrest Blood Traitors, and that Narcissa will have been taken prisoner by a relatively organized group of resistance. That's a lot to take in.**

 **So what is Voldemort gonna do about it? Hmmm...**


	12. Fire Burn And Cauldron Bubble

"Here it is," said Voldemort, walking into the sitting room with an open book. "Mutuorecognis Potion. It's an incredibly advanced Transfiguration Potion, one that causes the features on the two drinkers to morph and shift into unrecognisable visages… except to one another."

"Wait, so… you and I would recognise one another, but nobody else would recognise either of us?" Bellatrix asked, sitting up straighter. "That's brilliant. Why have I never heard of this potion?"

"Because it's very thoroughly banned by the Ministry of Magic," grinned Voldemort. "The possibilities are limitless, obviously, when two people can see one another's faces and yet be, for all intents and purposes, invisible to the world. It's been banned since 1810 with an Azkaban sentence attached since 1921, and so it's largely fallen into obscurity."

"How does one brew it?" asked Bellatrix, and Voldemort pinched his lips as he said,

"It doesn't take long… four hours. But I don't have all of these ingredients. I'll have to go shopping, and to do that, I'll have to use a shorter-term, more conventional form of Human Transfiguration. I'll be back in a few hours."

When he landed in a shadowy corner of Diagon Alley, Voldemort immediately set about Transfiguring his face. He narrowed his jaw and chin and nose, making everything a bit pointy. He sprouted some greying hair along his jawline, a short beard and mustache, and he thinned out the hair on his head. He Conjured some wire glasses for himself and adjusted the uncharacteristic dark blue hat he wore upon his head. No one would recognise him in his powder blue and dark blue robes, which were so much more flowery than what he usually wore. He tucked his wand away and walked with a manufactured limp then, making his way through the bustling crowd toward Slug & Jiggers.

He'd memorised the ingredients list for Mutuorecognis Potion, but he figured the proprietor of Slug & Jiggers would know it, too. So he'd decided to purchase a great number of ingredients to throw anyone off the scent of his trail, off the idea that Mutuorecognis Potion was the specific draught he was brewing. He shoved his way into the little apothecary and grabbed a wicker shopping basket, and he began silently procuring ingredients from shelves and jars.

Crushed rose thorns, which he purchased in the denomination of a small brown bottle. One preserved rabbit's foot, two bottles of ginger berry juice, powdered bicorn horn, sea shell dust, milk of the grey wolf, and a large bottle of black squid ink. Dust from the Moon (very expensive, but very necessary), willow bark, mermaid's scales, pixie antennae, peppermint oil, Essence of Murtlap, a moonstone, and a raven's beak.

Only half of those ingredients were needed for Mutuorecognis Potion, but Voldemort was careful to buy other ingredients, like Essence of Murtlap, that he knew he'd use at some other point in time. The only ingredient that worried him was the Moondust. Incredibly difficult to procure - Voldemort still wasn't quite sure how anyone actually obtained it - it was one of the rarest and most expensive potions ingredients in existence. He'd had to ask very specifically for it in the crowded shop, and he knew there were only five or six potions in the world that required it. Still, he had no choice. If he was to brew the Mutuorecognis Potion, he needed the Moondust.

Back at Marsham House, he unloaded his canvas bags of Potions ingredients in the conservatory, and he said to Bellatrix,

"Go into my office and fetch my copper cauldron, my stirring stick, my scales, my mortar and pestle, my ladle, and my silver knife, will you?"

He stripped off his blue robes and rolled up the sleeves of the black tunic he wore beneath, and he began to arrange the ingredients he needed specifically for Mutuorecognis Potion. Once Bellatrix had brought in all of his Potions supplies and arranged them for him on the table in the corner, he set to work, reading aloud from the book in which he'd found the recipe.

"Begin by bringing two hundred millilitres of Standard Potioning Water to a low boil." He uncorked the jug of Standard Potioning Water and used his copper measuring cup to pour in two hundred millilitres, then set a heating fire beneath the cauldron and waited for bubbles to appear in the water. He corked the bottle as Bellatrix nervously paced in the room, and he said,

"Crush eight mermaid scales. Combine with two teaspoons sea shell dust, and stir vigorously into the Standard Potioning Water."

He followed these instructions, and as he was using his mortar and pestle to crush the scales, Bellatrix asked,

"We're not going to let them capture Narcissa, are we?"

"She was very heavily pregnant in the vision, from what I could see," Voldemort noted. "We're going to eliminate Dumbledore long before that comes to pass. Still… this house is very sturdily warded up. The thought has crossed my mind that she might be safer here than at your parents' house."

"You'd bring her here?" Bellatrix seemed very emotional then. "You'd let her stay here? To keep her safe?"

Voldemort shrugged a little and said softly, "She's my little sister now, isn't she? I can't very well have her pregnant and in danger in some townhouse in London."

Bellatrix smiled weakly as Voldemort mixed together the seashell dust with the crushed mermaid scales, then dumped the combination into the cauldron. He stirred quickly, and a little puff of pink-purple smoke was emitted from the cauldron. He read the next line of instructions and obeyed them, stirring slowly whilst he poured the bottle of peppermint oil slowly into the mixture. He coughed a little at the strong smell that began to come from the cauldron, and Bellatrix made a move to open the windows with her wand for ventilation. Voldemort informed her,

"This is meant to simmer for three hours. Then I come back and add the Moondust and let it boil vigorously for one more hour… then it's finished."

They spent the next three hours sitting on a sofa in the conservatory, rather anxiously discussing with one another what they meant to do when they found Dumbledore. Would they just blast him with a Killing Curse in public? No, Voldemort insisted. They'd need to hunt down wherever he was staying in Paris. They'd need time. They needed to bottle up this Mutuorecognis Potion so that they had potentially months' worth of doses. There was a squad assigned to take out Arthur Weasley and Ted Tonks as soon as possible, and hopefully those assassinations would be completed quickly.

"Will Narcissa stay here whilst we're away?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort promised her,

"Tippy will take very good care of her. You know that. She can stay in your old rooms, the green rooms, so she's comfortable. I think it is best if nobody really knows where she is, not even your parents. I'll discuss that matter with them, of course."

But even as he said that to Bellatrix, he had a feeling that conversation would not go very well at all.

* * *

"My Lord, she can't live entirely on her own. She's only fourteen!" cried Druella. Voldemort sighed, and Bellatrix insisted,

"She's old enough to have had a child put in her. Her life is in danger if she stays here."

"Bella," warned Voldemort, and of course then Druella exclaimed shrilly,

"Her life is in danger? What do you mean?"

"I have countless enemies, Druella," Voldemort said patiently. "Albus Dumbledore is missing. We can trust no one these days, and I think a very young pregnant witch is especially vulnerable. I would like, for Narcissa's safety, if she were given a temporary home removed from contact with anyone else. It is for her own good. I assure you of that."

Cygnus put his hand on his wife's and said quite firmly,

"I, for one, trust you, My Lord, and I trust you with my daughters. If you believe that Narcissa is safer hidden away, then you must do what will protect her. If there is some threat to her that you can not vocalise to us, I trust you have your reasons why."

"Thank you, Daddy," said Bellatrix.

An hour later, Voldemort was carrying an Expanded suitcase downstairs for Narcissa. She seemed baffled and confused as to why she was being taken away, especially since no one would tell her where she was going. Bellatrix took her by Side-Along, and when they all landed outside Marsham House, Narcissa almost fell. Voldemort tossed the suitcase away and rushed to catch Narcissa before her pregnant self could tumble to the ground, and Bellatrix shrieked in terror.

"I'm all right! Thank you, My Lord." Narcissa stood, cradling her belly, and stared at the structure before her. "What is this place?"

"This is Marsham House," Bellatrix said, walking up to the front stairs. She glanced over her shoulder and gave her sister a knowing little smile. "This is our home."

 **Author's Note: So Voldemort and Bellatrix are going to go to Paris using a potion where they can recognize each other but no one else knows them? And they'll be trying to hunt down and kill Dumbledore? And meanwhile a pregnant, fourteen-year-old Narcissa will be staying alone in Marsham House so that she isn't kidnapped?**

 **I'm sure everything will be just fine.**


	13. O Trespass Sweetly Urged

"I look like Narcissa, only… older." Bellatrix stared into the mirror above the desk in the Muggle hotel in Paris. Just before leaving the lawn outside Marsham House, she'd dosed herself with enough Mutuorecognis Potion to last a week, and now she blinked in surprise at the first chance to truly survey her appearance.

"Well, the Transfiguration that takes place sort of takes each facial figure and renders it the opposite," Voldemort said, and Bellatrix nodded.

"Cissy and I always were like two sides of a coin."

Her hair was cropped short around her chin, ice blonde and straight. Her face was rounder, gentler than usual, and she had a dusting of very pale freckles across her cheeks and nose. That nose was much longer than it had been, with a ski slope tip. Her eyes, normally round and dark, were almond shaped and cold blue. She was beautiful, almost frighteningly beautiful, but she looked nothing like herself. She turned and faced Voldemort, and she frowned.

"You look the same as always," she insisted, and he smirked.

"Only to you," he said. He walked up to the mirror and touched at his hair and face, and he described himself to her.

"My hair's strawberry blond with white streaks from age. My eyes are round and green, my skin tanned from the sun and spotted a bit. My bottom lip is quite full and my top lip thin. I've got a little scar going through one eyebrow and up onto my forehead. I look like a man who's spent decades out in a farm field."

"Out in a farm field," Bellatrix scoffed gently, and Voldemort murmured,

"Like a Muggle labourer."

"Oh." She shifted where she stood and asked, "So others see us as we see ourselves? We do not look like ourselves to anybody else?"

"Correct. The Muggle woman downstairs saw the witch with the icy blonde hair and the wizard with the scar on his forehead," Voldemort confirmed. "Only you and I see one another as we truly are."

"That's convenient," Bellatrix murmured. She huffed then and approached the wardrobe in the corner, opening it to see the row of black clothes she'd taken from her suitcase. "What shall I put on? Where are we going to begin our search?"

"Take your clothes off and leave them off," came a voice from behind her, and she laughed a little as she turned around. But then Voldemort looked very serious, and he informed her,

"I wasn't sure how the Chastity Serum would interact with the Mutuorecognis Potion, so I didn't take it."

"Oh." She stripped off her black sundress and stepped out of her shoes, and she shrugged. "Have you some sort of need, Master?"

"Yes, I have. Get on the bed." He gestured toward the bed, with its white eyelet coverlet, and he informed her, "I need to see my come run out of your body."

Bellatrix felt her eyes go completely round at that, and she gasped a little at how graphic he'd been. Her cheeks went hot, and she whispered,

"Erm… all right, then."

She climbed slowly up onto the bed and arranged herself on her back, and Voldemort barked,

"Touch yourself."

"Master." Bellatrix was a little confused by the very sudden aggression within him, the abrupt heat in his eyes and the bite in his voice. He whipped off his Muggle suit jacket and tossed it aside, and he began stripping off his tie and shirt and trousers. She was almost frightened of him then, frightened of the way he moved so methodically without speaking. She inched her fingers down like he'd said to do, but she was dry, her body confused. Her nipples were soft, and her womanhood was dry. It wasn't that she didn't want him. It was that she didn't know what to want in the first place. He stalked up onto the bed like a lion stalking prey, and he shoved her head aside as he declared,

"I'm going to mark you up."

"Master!" Bellatrix whined a little in protest, shoving his head away as she complained, "We haven't got Butterly Weed Balm here, and people will think you're -"

"Stop. I don't care." He latched onto her neck and sucked so hard that she yelped, arching up and clutching at his shoulders. She went a little wet just from the feel of his tongue and teeth on her delicate skin, and the grind of his cock on her belly felt good. But she was still baffled by the animalistic urge that seemed to have erupted from nowhere, and she murmured,

"Master, please be careful."

"Mmmph…" He clutched at his cock and then moved a little, shifting until he could shove himself inside of her. She pushed her head back onto the pillow and sucked in air through clenched teeth, her fingernails digging little crescents into his flesh. He pounded her mercilessly then, his cock moving like an oiled machine part as he drilled until their hips slapped together. Over and over he slammed into her, her cervix aching from the impact, and he puffed out hot breath against her neck as he groaned. His hands were wrapped around her little arms, and she knew there would be bruises there from how tightly he was grasping. She scratched up his back, and he nodded vigorously against her neck. He liked it. She did it again, and he snarled, snapping his hips tight against hers and then hissing,

"Pretty little young creature. Mmm…"

Suddenly she could feel him twitching inside of her, and then, after a few moments, he wrenched himself out and backed away, kneeling on the bed and shoving her legs apart. Bellatrix felt profoundly exposed with him staring at the pink oyster of her womanhood like this. Then she felt the hot, wet ooze of his seed running out of her, and she knew that was what he'd wanted all along. He stared, holding onto her knees, and his eyes rolled back a little as a deep, visceral groan wormed its way up from the bottom of his chest.

It took a very long while before he seemed to regain his senses, but when he did, he appeared to be rather embarrassed with himself. He was careful in helping Bellatrix dress, apologising over and over for being so suddenly and thoroughly taken by the need to conquer her in such a base way.

"I can help you find pleasure now," he insisted, but Bellatrix slid on clean knickers and shook her head patiently.

"No, thank you, Master; I'm fine. Really. And I'm not angry."

"I have an idea on where to look for Dumbledore," Voldemort said quietly as he buttoned up his dress shirt. Bellatrix slid on her black flat shoes and gave him a curious look. Voldemort said, "When I was on the Continent, studying, people said that Gellert Grindelwald had a flat in the Marais. He kept it even at the height of his power as a place to escape for privacy. No one knew the exact address, but it was well known that Grindelwald had always found respite in Paris, in the Marais."

"But what's that got to do with Dumbledore?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort smirked a bit as he knotted up his tie.

"They said plenty of things about Dumbledore and Grindelwald. That they were far more than friends. I'd wager Dumbledore knew that place in the Marais very well. If he's run off to Paris, that might be where he's hiding. He isn't going to spend all his time in the rue des Mots, which is like the Parisian Diagon Alley."

"So we go to the Marais," Bellatrix said slowly, "and just… wander about? Waiting for him to show up?"  
"Actually, I was thinking of going to the Marais and using Legilimency on the local Muggles to find out of any of them have seen him," Voldemort said camly. Bellatrix rolled her eyes and admitted,

"Yes. All right. That makes sense. Let's go, then."

* * *

They'd been walking slowly through the rue des Barres for over an hour now, and Bellatrix was beginning to get bored. Her feet were beginning to get sore. She paused outside a Muggle chemist and sighed as she thumbed through some postcards of Paris that were on a spinning wire rack. Voldemort murmured,

"Wait. That woman selling flowers over there. I've got something."

Bellatrix shoved the postcard of Notre-Dame de Paris back into the rack and whirled as Voldemort stared at a very stooped old woman with a cart of lavender bunches on the sidewalk. The woman patted her head as if an insect were buzzing around in her skull. She was bothered by the feel of the Legilimency, though she never would have been able to place what it was. Voldemort took a step forward, then blinked a few times, and he turned to Bellatrix.

"Dumbledore buys flowers from her every other morning. Then he walks down this street and turns the corner up there to the left. She never sees him besides that. He's here, Bella. He's in this street."

Bellatrix's heart thudded a tattoo inside her chest. She glanced at her reflection in the shiny window outside the shop that sold the postcards. Short blonde hair. Piercing blue eyes. Would Dumbledore know her? She gulped and eyed Voldemort. He appeared very differently than she saw him, she knew, to everyone else. They were disguised here. But would it be enough? It would have to be enough.

"Let's find a place to get dinner," Voldemort suggested. "I want to wait until this place is sleeping before we go up the road and try and find the actual flat."

 **Author's Note: They're getting close! Will they hunt down Dumbledore and actually kill him? Or will it all go wrong again? Will Narcissa be okay? Ahhh! I'd love to know your thoughts. Thank you for reading and a HUGE thank you for feedback.**


	14. I Think On Hell-Fire

"You don't want anything besides the salad?" Voldemort asked, watching as Bellatrix poked her fork at her prawns on greens. She shook her head and said,

"I'm entirely too nervous to be eating anything but little shrimps and leaves, My Lord."

"Well, I'm nervous too; that's why I'm eating so much." He sawed into his lamb chop with mint gremolata and stuffed a bite into his mouth. He swigged from his rich red Bordeaux, and Bellatrix pursed her lips.

"D'you suppose Narcissa's doing all right?" she asked quietly, and Voldemort took another bite of lamb before he said,

"I think Tippy is probably spoiling her rotten. She's probably sitting in the conservatory as we speak, being waited on hand and foot by a very anxious little Tippy, who's probably bringing her warm milk and fresh biscuits."

Bellatrix smiled just a little and nodded, picking up a prawn and eating it more readily.

"I hope that's true."

"She will be safer if the Healers perform a Magical Section birth," Voldemort said a little uncomfortably, "since she is so young."

"Magical Section?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort clarified,

"If they very carefully cut the child from her… and heal her up, of course. But it is safer for a very young witch. She'll be sedated. There's no pain. They'll take the baby before she wakes so she doesn't have to see or hear it."

Bellatrix's face blanched, and she whispered sadly,

"I wish so badly for her that she did not have to endure any of this. And, yet, I know it was her mistake that brought this upon her. Avery and his new wife will care well for the child, I hope."

"Avery has given me every assurance that the child will be raised as if it were his own blood," Voldemort said very firmly. But Bellatrix fretted,

"What if it gets nearer the end and Narcissa wants to keep the child?"

"Keep the child?" Voldemort scoffed. "She's fourteen. When she delivers the baby - which should be as early as the Healers deem safe - she will rest at home and then return to her education. She will become a Death Eater at seventeen. She will finish school. Then, and only then, will she marry Lucius Malfoy if she wishes, and they may have right born children to keep. She may not keep this child; she is fourteen. I will not allow it."

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix bowed her head and poked at her salad again, and Voldemort scowled at her.

"Avery and his wife Nadine are going to raise the child."

"Yes. I know," Bellatrix said, almost roughly. Voldemort threw his hands up and demanded,

"What is the problem, Bellatrix?"

"She'll miss the baby," Bellatrix said sadly. "She's already told me about it. She's already said it will be the most difficult thing in all the world to -"

"You are not about to suggest what I think you are," Voldemort said, warning in his voice and a pit in his stomach.

"We could raise the child," Bellatrix blurted. Voldemort shook his head.

"No. We could not. You and I both despise children, and we are entirely too -"

"I can't be pregnant because I'm a soldier," Bellatrix conceded, "but we have Tippy to care for the baby whilst we're off working. And I spend much of my time - most of my time - at Marsham House. Narcissa could still visit. I could care for the child when I'm not in battle."

"You don't want to do that," Voldemort snapped, and Bellatrix murmured,

"I think I do."

"You want to raise the child of your fourteen-year-old sister and her little boyfriend?" Voldemort demanded, and the people at the next table over looked rather intrigued by the conversation. Voldemort felt his nostrils flare, and he shook his head. "Avery and his new wife Nadine are going to raise the child. We will speak no more on this. I will hear no more of this. This is absolutely ridiculous that you should even bring this up to me. Ludicrous."

"Please, Master. I'm sorry." Bellatrix sighed, and then she raised her eyes and froze. Voldemort frowned a little and shrugged.

"What's wrong?"

Bellatrix stared down at her salad and whispered, "He's just walked in."

"What? Who?" snapped Voldemort, and as he whirled over his shoulder, Bellatrix snapped at him,

"No! Don't look… ah!"

Voldemort's eyes went wide with wonder then. He stared as Albus Dumbledore was shown to a table, as he sat down in his strange-looking, dark purple Muggle-style suit. He gratefully accepted a menu from a Muggle waiter, and he quickly placed an order. Then he met Voldemort's eyes, and Voldemort turned back to Bellatrix, panting a little.

"He suspects something," Bellatrix hissed, and Voldemort nodded just a little. He stuffed three quick bites of lamb with mint into his mouth and then he swigged down red wine, and he whispered,

"We need to get out of here. Let's pay and leave."

"Pardon me."

Voldemort raised his eyes to see Albus Dumbledore pulling out a chair at the four-top table where he and Bellatrix were sitting. Voldemort gulped and shrugged, pretending not to understand, pretending not to know, not to recognise. Dumbledore smirked a little and sat, and he said gently,

"I can not help but think that I know you two from somewhere. Old acquaintances, perhaps. Long lost friends? I am Albus Dumbledore. Do you know me?"

" _Désolée, mais nous ne parlons pas anglais,"_ said Bellatrix quickly, but Voldemort shut his eyes and shook his head. Was she a complete idiot? When he opened his eyes, he saw solemn recognition wash over Dumbledore's aged face. Dumbledore nodded and said,

"Bellatrix. I can hear your voice even through the disguise, even through the language. And that means… Tom."

He turned to Voldemort, who shook his head and shrugged again, but it was useless now. Dumbledore knew them. Dumbledore recognised them. Voldemort chomped his lip, and Dumbledore said softly,

"You used to chew your lip like that, Tom, when you were a boy at Hogwarts and I suspected you of something. You'd put your teeth to your lip and insist you'd not done anything wrong. It's a peculiar tic of yours that you've retained through the decades. Though I confess, that scar is striking on you."

Voldemort still said nothing. Dumbledore folded his hands on the table and said gently, almost condescendingly,

"You have come here to kill me. I knew you would do so. But it can not be in this restaurant, Tom. You see, whilst to you these Muggles' lives have no meaning, to me they are innocents and valuable, all of them. So we will take our disagreement elsewhere, you and I."

"You're right," Voldemort said, and he reached into his suit jacket to pull out his wand. "They have no meaning to me. _Av-_ "

" _Stupefy!"_ shouted Dumbledore, flying to his feet. He shot out the spell from the palm of his hand, but Voldemort cut off his Killing Curse and immediately put up a Shield Charm around himself. The Stunning Spell blasted off the Shield Charm, bursting in blue sparks and lighting a few tablecloths on fire. People began to scream, and the fires gave Voldemort an idea. He could easily clear this restaurant out and kill Dumbledore in the process.

He circled his wand through the air above his head and summoned all the power he could, knowing he'd need it to control the Fiendfyre he was Conjuring. He snapped his wand forward as Muggles shrieked and dashed for the restaurant door, and he cried out,

" _IGNIS INIMICUM MAXIMA!"_

A conflagration, a veritable holocaust of hellfire exploded forth from Voldemort's wand and snaked through the restaurant, consuming the wood paneling and the tables, the tablecloths… the Muggles. There were screams. People were running. People were being eaten alive by the flames. They were dying. And so Dumbledore responded as Dumbledore was wont to do.

He tried to save the Muggles.

He began casting spells to try and rescue the burning figures, to try and extinguish the flames upon, them, to begin healing. Dumbledore's face twisted in fear and horror as Voldemort whipped the fire through the restaurant, and Dumbledore screamed,

"Stop this madness, Tom!"

" _AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

Voldemort snapped his wand down, his Fiendfyre dying in an instant as he stared at Albus Dumbledore. Bellatrix, his beautiful young wife, stood behind Dumbledore with her wand pressed to his back. Her face was sweaty from the heat of the flames that were devouring the restaurant, but she'd had the presence of mind to murder Dumbledore.

Dumbledore's half moon spectacles slipped down his nose a little, falling awkwardly as his face tipped strangely. His gaze went wide and round, and he whispered a word that Voldemort couldn't hear over the shrieking horror he'd unleashed with his Fiendfyre. Dumbledore collapsed down onto the ground in a pile as the jade green flash of Bellatrix's Killing Curse faded from Voldemort's vision.

"My Lord!"

Voldemort stared down at Dumbledore, who was dead. Dead. Albus Dumbledore was dead. A chandelier crashed to the ground behind Voldemort with a rickety clatter.

"My Lord!"

Bellatrix bent down and rifled in Dumbledore's jacket, pulling out his wand. She held it in her left hand and aimed her own wand at him.

" _Corpus Evanesco!"_

Dumbledore was gone. Dead. Gone. Someone ran by on fire.

"We have to go, Master!"  
Voldemort snapped to rights, and he stared at Bellatrix, who was sweating and glowing in the orange heat of the flames. She coughed loudly, shaking her head. The smoke was getting so thick. The smoke was paste in his lungs now, and as he reached for Bellatrix's shoulders, he insisted,

"You are the best soldier I could ever have. Ever."

"We need to go!" Bellatrix screamed. She squeezed Voldemort's hand and Disapparated, and when they came to, they were inside the chilly, quiet hotel room where they were staying.

Dumbledore was dead. Vanished.

Bellatrix studied his wand as she sat on the edge of the white bed, soiling it with ash and soot, and she looked up at Voldemort.

"We need to pack and go home," he told her, and she whispered,

"We need an antidote for the Mutuorecognis Potion."

"I haven't got one," he said. "We'll have to wait for it to wear off. But no one will know that it was us. No one will have recognised us. Still. We need to go home."

"He's dead," Bellatrix mumbled, and Voldemort walked over to her, holding her face and leaning down to kiss her hard. He tasted fire on her, and suddenly he found himself whispering,

"I'll give you whatever life you want, Bellatrix; you are everything. You've killed him. You brave creature. You beautiful soldier. I adore you."

"And I adore you, Master," Bellatrix said, touching at his chest with a wand in each of her hands. "Let's go home."

 **Author's Note: WELL! That was… probably not what you were expecting. :} I'd love to know your thoughts.**


	15. All The World's A Stage

"Crabbe," Voldemort said very calmly a few days later at a meeting at Malfoy Manor, "Tell us the status of Arthur Weasley and Ted Tonks."

Crabbe shifted in his chair and looked nervous. "Tonks, Master, is still a student at Hogwarts. Accessing him during term is proving quite difficult. We have plans to ambush him during a Hogsmeade visit, or -"

"Easter. He'll undoubtedly go to his filthy Muggle parents' home for the brief Easter respite," Voldemort said. "Get him then. It's only a few weeks from now."

"Yes, Master. That was our second plan," Crabbe affirmed. He exchanged looks with Goyle, who nodded, and he said, "We'll stake out the parents' house and prepare for a strike. Shall we take out his Muggle mother and father, as well?"

"You may." Voldemort nodded calmly, and Bellatrix caught his eye as his gaze brushed over the table. She shivered then, for he almost glared at her. His eyes burned for a moment, and suddenly she realised something.

He hadn't taken his Chasity Serum. They'd forgotten all about it.

Narcissa had gone back to the Black family home the day before, this morning they'd been so eager to get to the meeting, their Mutuorecognis Potion having worn off, that they'd forgotten entirely about the Chastity Serum. Bellatrix would have known if he'd taken it; he kept it in a special place beside his shaving utensils in his bathroom. He hadn't touched it. She'd watched him shave. Her breath shook now as he blinked a few times and cleared his throat.

"Weasley?" he barked at Crabbe. "What of Arthur Weasley?"

"Dead, Master," Yaxley said proudly. Everyone's faces turned to the Minister for Magic then. Yaxley smirked and nodded. "I saw the register of death myself just this morning. It seems Mr Weasley was… suicidal."

"Was he?" Voldemort asked lightly. "How did he die?"

"Hung himself with Conjured ropes, My Lord," Goyle said, "and his little wife Molly found him in the early hours. She was horrified, of course, to see that he'd taken his own life. Even more horrified to find the long letter he'd written stating that Albus Dumbledore was a madman, that the world belonged to Lord… to… to you."

"The world belongs to Lord Voldemort," said the master softly, and there was quiet in the room. He stood slowly and stared at Bellatrix. "Come here."

She shook her head minutely, trying to wordlessly dissuade him, but she knew that disobeying him now would be the very worst thing she could possibly do for either of them. He narrowed his eyes, and she barely recognised him there in the steely, cold look he gave her. He was blind with lust now, she could tell. Lust for her. Lust for power. He was blind, and nothing she could do in this moment would make him see.

She would have to play along. She would have to give him what he wanted and help him look powerful now. She would have to exaggerate things, even, in order for him not to look foolish. She had to help him. She could not let this addiction of his ruin him.

She could not stand in his way.

She gulped and stood, and as she walked toward the head of the table, Voldemort held his hand out to her and panted a little. He stared at his Death Eaters one by one and informed the lot of them,

"The world belongs to Lord Voldemort. Arthur Weasley penned it and then hung himself, and do you all know what became of Albus Dumbledore? Hmm?"

There was heavy, ringing silence then, and Voldemort let out a low, malicious chuckle. He shrugged.

"Anyone hear anything about a fire in Paris?"

The others looked at one another and slowly raised their hands.

"My Lord," said Yaxley hesitantly, "My Departments have been frantic over it. Word is that the French Ministry had to Obliviate four surviving Muggles who described what could have only been Fiendfyre. And what they saw inside the restaurant was… well… it sounded like it was a blonde witch, a scarred wizard, and an old man who… who sounded a lot like Albus Dumbledore."

Voldemort smirked, and then he reached and clutched at Bellatrix's waist. He snarled down at her with want and demanded,

"Tell them where Dumbledore is now, Bella. Tell them."

"He's dead." She turned her face toward them and lied, "Your master slayed him. He was weak. Lord Voldemort and I were disguised. We went to Paris to hunt out the rat, and he made himself known. He tried to save the Muggles from the Fiendfyre our master Conjured."

There were hisses and disbelieving laughs then, and Bellatrix grinned wildly as she continued,

"Our master defeated Albus Dumbledore. And I watched as his corpse, the meat of his stinking body, Vanished into Nonbeing on the floor of that burning restaurant. But we have a trophy!"

She reached into her black velvet dress and pulled out the narrow, knobby wand they'd taken from Dumbledore. It felt so good in her hand, so powerful, and she curled her fingers around it as the others ogled in shock at the wand. Voldemort was frantic with need now, she could tell, and as she turned to him and set the wand down on the table, she shrugged and insisted quietly,

"The world belongs to Lord Voldemort."

"On your knees," he hissed, and she bowed her head as she sank down. Her black velvet skirts billowed around her, and her breath shook like mad as she tried not to cry.

 _Please don't do this,_ she thought, but she knew there was no stopping him now. She nearly hyperventilated then as Voldemort parted his deep green robes and began unbuttoning his trousers. Bellatrix glanced up to the table to see that the others were shocked - horrified, even - to see that Voldemort was pulling his cock out in front of all of them. Bellatrix rushed to cover him as well as she could. She shoved her mouth onto him and used her hand to shield the flesh of his organ from their view. All the while as she pleasured him, she used her sleeve, her fingers, her hair… anything she could to keep his followers from seeing the most private part of him. She moaned a little, wanting them to think that she was wanton, that he was making her _enjoy_ this conquering, and when he came, she swallowed the awful, bitter, metallic stuff without complaint.

He tucked himself away, and she gagged a little as she ran her wrist over her lips. He helped her stand, and then she could see regret painted all over his face. But she smiled at him, a smile that carried anger and humiliation instead of glee. She nodded and ran her hands down his arms. She picked up Dumbledore's wand from the table and held it out to him as if presenting a gift.

"The world," she said quite confidently, "belongs to Lord Voldemort."

He took the wand and silently tucked it away as the others clapped and stood, nobody seeming quite sure of what the appropriate reaction was just now. Voldemort licked his lip, his earlier excitement dissolved, and he tipped his head as he barked frustratedly,

"Dismissed!"

* * *

She was staring out the conservatory window at the rain a few hours later when he appeared beside her.

"I am more sorry than I can say."

"It's both our faults for forgetting the Serum," Bellatrix insisted. "It was fine. Odd. Awkward. But fine."

"Only because of you." He turned to her and said very gravely, "You're not in my way. You are my way."

Bellatrix just blinked, her eyes stinging, and she pressed her palm to the cold glass. She let her bottom lip edge out a little, and she admitted,

"I am embarrassed that those wizards saw me… doing that."

"I can try and Obliviate them all," Voldemort suggested, but Bellatrix shook her head.

"No. The humiliation will fade. But the power dynamic you established will not. They must remember well that meeting."

"You are insufferably perfect, you do realise?" Voldemort said, and Bellatrix sadly turned up half her mouth. Voldemort asked cautiously, "How angry are you, really?"

"I'm not." Bellatrix finally flicked her eyes to him, and she said very honestly, "I'm not angry with you, Master. I'm… I almost wish I could be, but I just do not feel anger."

"This wand once belonged to Gellert Grindelwald." Voldemort reached into his robes, and Bellatrix frowned as Voldemort pulled out the wand. He nodded and said, "I've got a very good memory. An exceptional memory, even, and one of the things I notice about people is their wands. I remember being a school boy and seeing newspaper photos of Gellert Grindelwald. He had a wand that looked like this. Meanwhile, as my Transfiguration professor, Albus Dumbledore had a different wand. Then… in 1945, he began carrying this one."

"You think he took it as a trophy," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort dragged his teeth over his lip.

"I think he won it. I think it… you know, Bella, if you were to try and use my wand, it wouldn't go well. My wand isn't meant for you. But I saw the way you looked at this wand. The way you held it. Do it now."

He passed it over to her, and as she took hold of the knobby, slender wand, she felt relief rush through her veins. She nodded at Voldemort, and he asked,

"As good as your own wand?"

"Better," she admitted, and he sighed.

" _You_ killed Dumbledore, no matter what aggrandising lie you told my Death Eaters," Voldemort said. "That means that _you_ won that off of Dumbledore. Now, he didn't kill Grindelwald to win it, which means I don't have to kill you to win it. But I want it, because… well…"

"It's powerful, and you're you, and you should have everything," Bellatrix smirked. Voldemort just tipped his head.

"There are fairy stories about exceptionally powerful wands that change hands through conquering. I think you're holding one, and I want it. But I won't hurt you for it."

Bellatrix curled up her lips and nodded. She took a few steps back, toward the wall, and she aimed the wand at Voldemort.

"Take it," she ordered him, and he hesitated before reaching into the wand holster at his hip. He finally pulled out his own pale yew wand and nibbled on his lip before aiming it at Bellatrix. He opened his mouth, and she said again, "Take it, Master. It's yours, like everything else. Like me."

" _Expelliarmus,_ " he said simply, and the thin, elegant wand went soaring through the air out of Bellatrix's hand. Voldemort deftly caught it in his left hand, and then suddenly he dropped his yew wand and transferred the new wand into his right hand. He jabbed his right arm out toward the windows and snapped, " _FINESTRA!"_

In an instant, every pane of glass in the entire conservatory had dissolved into dust, leaving a green wrought iron frame behind. The cold rain poured into the conservatory, and Bellatrix stared at Voldemort, shocked by the immense power of the lowly spell he'd cast. As the rain fell onto her curls, soaking them, she walked over piles of dusted glass and put her hands onto his chest. He stared down at her with wide eyes, and just before they bound one another into a kiss, she murmured,

"The world belongs to Lord Voldemort."

 **Author's Note: Okay. Sooo… he actually has all three Deathly Hallows, but he doesn't necessarily realize that or what that means. Also, Dumbledore's death is now known. BUT. Ted Tonks is alive at Hogwarts, and in Bellatrix's vision, Dumbledore had already told Tonks and Arthur Weasley about the Horcruxes. Think it's a good idea to wait until Easter to take that kid out? Hmm… As always, feedback is greatly appreciated.**


	16. It Is Not In The Stars

"I'm afraid we just aren't compatible, My Lord."

"Not compatible," repeated Voldemort, digging his front teeth into his lip. "Avery, you've been married to the woman for a scant few months. How can you possibly know if you're compatible yet? Give it time."

Even as he spoke, he knew he made absolutely no sense, and he put his lips into a line as Avery's eyes welled. Avery had been compatible with Etheline. He'd been married to Etheline for twenty years. But then Etheline had seduced Voldemort, and Voldemort had killed her. Still, Avery was a loyal Death Eater. What more could Voldemort possibly demand of this man?

"I need you to still take the baby," Voldemort whispered, and Avery shut his eyes.

"Master, I beg you. Nadine and I… we each just want our own existences as adults. We felt enormous pressure, both of us, from Cygnus and Druella to agree to take the child. Neither of us actually want… I'm sure you will find someone more suitable."

Voldemort rubbed at his eyes and nodded. He could not ask any more of this man. This man had been pushed to his brink. He'd been pushed to the point of snapping, and he hadn't snapped. Voldemort didn't want to risk it. He sighed and assured Avery,

"Your loyalty and your service in the face of all this is appreciated more than I can express, Avery. I wish you and Nadine all the best, the both of you. Sorry it didn't work out."

"You are merciful, Master." Avery bowed his head, and Voldemort just stared. He studied Avery's round, sad face, and he finally said quietly,

"You may go."

"Goodbye, sir." Avery rose and bowed deeply, and then he turned to go from the office. Voldemort gulped once Avery had gone, and he pressed his new, knobby wand to his Dark Mark. He thought of Bellatrix, Summoning her, and his Mark seared. He folded his hands on his desk and just sat in silence, until five minutes later there was urgent knocking on his office door.

"Come on in, Bella," Voldemort called, and the door opened and shut quickly. Bellatrix came into the office looking a little disheveled, like she'd rushed out of Marsham House, and she asked,

"Something wrong, Master?"

"Sit." He touched his fingers to his forehead, and Bellatrix frowned as she sank into the chair opposite him. He swallowed hard and informed her,

"Avery is getting a divorce. He and his new wife are incompatible. They will not be taking Narcissa's child. We will need to ensure that a new Pureblood couple is found quickly, matched with the baby so that there is an arrangement made well in advance of the birth."

Bellatrix's eyes went wet at once, and she looked away. She stared at the wall in silence, and Voldemort knew why. She'd discussed this in the restaurant in Paris. She wanted to take the baby. She wanted to care for the baby.

"I thought you hated children," Voldemort whispered, and Bellatrix shrugged a little.

"I… I had a dream," she whispered, and Voldemort scowled.

"A dream. A vision, you mean."

"I don't know," she admitted. "I saw myself cradling a little blonde baby. Singing to the child in our conservatory. Then you came into the room and told me that you needed me to come and fight, that it was time for battle. I gave the baby to Tippy, and Tippy saw to it that the child was safe whilst you and I defeated your enemies. And all felt so well."

"It was only a dream," Voldemort said, shaking his head. His stomach felt sick as he told her, "You and I are not meant to be parents."

"Parents. No." Bellatrix turned her gaze upon him. "Not parents. Caretakers. An aunt and uncle who raise a child so that the mother and father might know them well. And I saw something else. I dreamed something else. I dreamed of you with a thin blonde witch, seven or eight, and she was performing wicked wandless magic in a forest beside you."

"Bella." Voldemort shook his head, shutting his eyes. "This is madness. You must stop now."

"Morganna. I see her face. I hear her name. Morganna Malfoy." Bellatrix's voice shook, and Voldemort pounded his fist on the desk.

"Stop this!"  
"Look into my head, Master!" Bellatrix cried desperately. "Please! I have tried to keep these dreams from you!"

" _Legilimens,_ " hissed Voldemort, and he crashed into Bellatrix's head.

' _Avada Kedavra!' screamed Bellatrix, and the green light blasted from her wand and shot against the chest of the bearded wizard who had been running toward her. The last scraps of resistance, right here in the Forest of Dean, were being defeated._

' _Bombarda Maxima!' shrieked a little voice, and Bellatrix turned to see a tiny blonde child, a tight braid running down her back, aiming her palm outward. A bomb-like explosion burst from the child, sending screaming enemies flying. The child snapped at the hem of her black velvet bodice, and she smirked at Bellatrix, then at Voldemort, who grinned._

' _Well done, Morganna,' he said quite proudly, and Morganna Malfoy said in a thin but confident voice,_

' _I've got more than that, My Lord.'_

 _Bellatrix laughed a little and said to Morganna, 'Let's flank right; there are more over that berm.'_

' _Let's go, Aunt Bella!' Morganna sprinted toward Bellatrix, taking the hand of the witch who had raised her, and the two of them dashed through the forest together._

"Stop this madness now!" Voldemort screamed, and he flew to his feet as he shook his head like mad. "We are not going to raise the bastard of your fourteen-year-old sister and Abraxas Malfoy's incompetent little son!"

"She is important! I can feel it! Please! Please do not disregard this!" Bellatrix begged. "I don't want to be a mother. I want to stay sterilised. I can feel that I am meant to raise this child. I am meant to sing to the baby wrapped up in the blanket. I am meant to let Tippy keep her safe at nights. I am meant to play with her in the springtime flowers and the summer rains. And you are meant to teach her -"

"I wish you had never begun having these blasted visions," Voldemort hissed, and Bellatrix scoffed.

"Do you? Do you really wish we'd had no warning about Dumbledore, about Tonks, about Weasley? About Harry Potter? Do you really not think that it is advantageous for me to see little glimpses of what might be? For better or worse? I want you to have everything. If you pass this child off to someone else, things will go wrong. I can feel it."

"I do not want a bloody baby!" Voldemort exclaimed, and Bellatrix shut her eyes. Voldemort thought back over her vision, seeing the little blonde girl with the braid, the vicious little child he'd obviously been training up. Morganna.

"Morganna," he whispered, and the name felt so strange in his mouth that he murmured it a little more loudly. "Morganna Malfoy. Why is she so important?"

"I do not know why," Bellatrix mumbled, "but I can feel her in my arms, and I can see her eyes, and I know that we simply mustn't… find someone besides the Averys. It's… I have been trying to hide this, and perhaps I ought not to have suppressed it even as much as I've done. I haven't known what to make of it. Believe me, Master; if I did not feel a desperate compulsion to care for her, I would never suggest it. This does not seem optional."

"It does not not seem optional," Voldemort repeated. He shut his eyes and nodded. Her visions thus far had not steered them wrong. Her visions had saved them; her visions had seemed like the difference between future success or defeat. Avoiding the terrifying visions had seemed critical. Now, obeying this vision of unfettered power seemed critical, too. Finally Voldemort opened his eyes and muttered,

"We will raise the child. But if you begin having visions that steer us toward a different path, we will shift our strategy. If you begin dreaming that the child must be raised by, say, Abraxas and Martina Malfoy instead, then -"

"Of course, My Lord. We'll do whatever seems as though it will lead to your victory. There can be no other goal." Bellatrix was resolute then, and Voldemort realised that her pleading to keep her sister's offspring had never been emotionally driven. She was desperate only for the success of her husband, of her master. He licked his lip and nodded.

"Tippy will do most of the caring. Tippy's quite affectionate with little breakable things. She took fine care of Narcissa whilst we were in Paris."

Bellatrix gave Voldemort a sad little smile and said, "Tippy will do a fine job. But I've also dreamed of a glass bottle of milk in one hand and a soft head beneath the other. I will hold the child, and feed her. I will cradle her until she falls asleep. I will see to her nappies. I will shush her when she cries. For some reason, Master, I do not fear any of it. I do not dread it as I dreaded the idea of bearing a child of my own. I do not want to bear a child of my own. But I do not fear this child."

Voldemort had a sudden flash to a time he'd been drinking coffee in Salzburg with Liesl Drucken, when he'd been a younger man and he hadn't murdered her yet. Voldemort shut his eyes and recited aloud,

" _A silver-haired creature with sapphire eyes shall you gather reluctantly under your wing. And though you shall guide her, ever shall she guide you. Tiny fingers clutched round elder, silver hair hidden beneath cloak of false velvet, gifted obsidian hung round her neck, and she lives thus as long as your selfish heart cries._ "

"What on Earth is that?" Bellatrix demanded, her voice a cold snap. Voldemort blinked his eyes open and said softly,

"Liesl Drucken delivered that prophecy to me in Salzburg in 1954. I was twenty-eight years old. I thought it meant that someday I would fall in love with a blonde woman… a Veela, perhaps. I never knew what to make of the second half of it."

"False velvet. Hidden." Bellatrix's lips fell open, and she said disbelievingly, "That Invisibility Cloak you took from the Potters."

"There's something else, too," Voldemort said, and his fingers trembled as he pulled Dumbledore's wand from his holster. "I'm good at sensing wand characteristics. I've a bit of a talent for wandlore. I can feel the specifics of this one. It's made of elder wood. It's… a wand of elder. Like the children's story. _Tiny fingers clutched round elder._ "

"Children's story. Fairy story. You keep talking about this wand and stories," Bellatrix said frustratedly, and she shrugged. "What are you talking about?"

Voldemort raised his brows. "When's the last time you read _The Tales of Beedle the Bard?_ "

"It's been… I dunno; I was a small child." Bellatrix looked frightened, and Voldemort tucked his wand away again.

"Well. Let's go back to Marsham House. We've got a few books there; I'm certain we've got a copy. A child in a vision. A prophecy about a silver-haired creature holding an elder wood wand, cloaked and hidden, wearing obsidian… I think it's time we had a refresher reading of _The Tale of Three Brothers,_ Bella."

And with that, he moved around the desk and held his hand out to her. She stood slowly, putting her fingers in his hand, and she asked,

"We are going to care for her? For Morganna?"

"Oh, yes." Voldemort sighed very, very deeply and admitted, "It does not seem optional. Let's go."

 **Author's Note: Oh, goodness. So Liesl Drucken's prophecy foretold Narcissa's daughter in possession of the Deathly Hallows, and Bellatrix's visions seem to confirm that they're destined to raise the child.**

 **I'm sure everything will be just fine. :}**

 **Please do take a moment to review if you haven't done so, especially if you've made it this far into the saga and are still enjoying it. I'd really love to know your thoughts.**


	17. There Was A Star Danced

"The Resurrection Stone," Bellatrix said quietly, staring at the ceiling in the bed she shared with Lord Voldemort. "What is it?"

"I don't know." Voldemort sighed loudly from beside her and admitted, "I've seen that symbol before, the one that was in the book. The triangle with the circle and the line. I always thought… I thought it was a family crest."

"What sort of family crest?" Bellatrix turned her face to him, and he shrugged a little.

"One of my Horcruxes is a ring, a family ring that I had to steal back. It's got a rather ugly black stone upon it, but I wore the ring as a trophy for some time. Now that it's a Horcrux, it's hidden in my family's old shack in Little Hangleton. In the shadow of the black stone is that symbol. I can see it clear as day."

"What, you think that black stone is the Resurrection Stone?" Bellatrix asked, but Voldemort licked his lip and insisted,

"It doesn't matter. The prophecy Liesl Drucken delivered to me mentioned the silver-haired creature being gifted the stone. Perhaps someday I'll entrust it to her. But she isn't even born yet. I don't want to think about any of this. Right this moment, Bellatrix, I've got a squad staking out the Tonks family home, ready to strike the moment the students come home on holiday. And I've got other news for you, news that… well, I'm not sure how you'll react."

He flicked his eyes to her, and Bellatrix scowled as she pushed herself up onto an elbow. She met his eyes, waiting for him to speak. Voldemort said as calmly as he could,

"The squad has evidence that your sister Andromeda intends on spending the Easter holidays with the Tonkses. Lucius Malfoy overheard Andromeda arguing with another girl about it in the Slytherin Common Room. You know… you know that if she goes to that house…"

"Good. Kill her. She's a traitor." Bellatrix flopped back down onto her pillow and huffed a little frustrated sigh. "I don't ever want to lay eyes on that wicked girl again. You know it's Cissy's fifteenth birthday this Saturday? My parents are having a little dinner to mark it. They're afraid to ask you to come."

"Afraid," Voldemort repeated, and Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot.

"I think most people are very afraid of you now, Master, including your in-laws. Asking you to dinner at their house is a terrifying endeavour for them, I think. But it would mean the world to me if we could go together and dine… and make the announcement."

Voldemort was very quiet then, and after a long while, he said,

"There can be no mention of visions. No name, no gender given. Your Seeing must stay secret. That gift belongs to me."

"I understand, My Lord," Bellatrix hummed. She reached for his bare chest and said, "Perhaps we can just say that, in light of Avery breaking things off with Nadine, you and I decided that there was another way. You decided that this child was worthy of being raised by the Dark Lord himself, and you wish for Narcissa to be able to visit with her own child. She will be overcome with joy. With gratitude."

"I hope so." Voldemort folded his hands over his stomach and tentatively asked Bellatrix, "In your dreams, is the baby… what does she look like? Describe her to me."

Bellatrix felt her eyes sear then, and she whispered, "Look into my head."

She felt him push in then, his nonverbal Legilimency strong and sure. She gave him the dream that had been in her mind four of the last five nights.

' _Here is her milk, Mistress Bellatrix,' said Tippy, rushing into the conservatory._

' _Oh, good. She's so hungry.' Bellatrix took the glass bottle and gently put it into Morganna's mouth. Her little full lips parted and then latched around the rubber, and her wailing immediately ceased. Her face, which had been splotched with scarlet from crying, faded to porcelain again. Her round little cheeks were perfect, Bellatrix thought. Her wide eyes, the colour of purest sapphires, stared up at Bellatrix and then slowly blinked shut, her silver lashes long and curled._

' _Darling little child, let your tears dry now,' Bellatrix sang gently, swaying left and right. She adjusted the blanket round Morganna and hummed a little, then sang some more as the baby suckled at the bottle. 'Sweetest little child, let your tears fly away.'_

' _Bella?'_

 _She turned at the sound of his voice, and he smiled weakly from where he stood in the entrance to the conservatory. He shrugged a little and said,_

' _We have to go. There are enemies waiting in Wales tonight. I need you.'_

' _Don't worry, Morganna. Aunt Bella will be home very soon.' Bellatrix bent to kiss the child's delicate little forehead, and Morganna cooed onto her bottle._

' _Tippy.' Voldemort's voice was a low, urgent murmur then as he gave the House-Elf instructions and news. Bellatrix reluctantly handed Morganna over to Tippy, who used magic to help her cradle the child just so. She nodded up at Bellatrix and promised,_

' _Tippy will take perfect care of the little mistress. Never you worry, Mistress Bellatrix. Never you fear.'_

' _Let's go, Bella,' said Voldemort, and Bellatrix took her master's hand, Disapparating at once and coming to in the middle of a battlefield._

Voldemort slowly edged out of Bellatrix's mind, and he said in a voice that sounded almost choked with emotion,

"Dinner on Saturday, then?"

* * *

"Happy birthday, Cissy." Bellatrix embraced her sister, who looked a little tired and a little puffy but otherwise quite well. Narcissa had dressed in beautiful lilac-coloured robes, with elaborate black velvet decoration upon them. They were cut to drape around her little swollen belly, and when Bellatrix saw her like that, she was suddenly on the verge of tears. She swallowed hard and nodded to her parents.

"Mum. Dad. Hullo."

"Hello, Bella. My Lord." Druella dipped into a very low curtsy to Voldemort, and she murmured, "What an honour to have you join us for Narcissa's birthday."

"We would not miss it for all the world," Voldemort said warmly. He clapped his hand on Cygnus' shoulder, and the two men exchanged tight little smiles. Everyone headed into the dining room then, and Voldemort pushed out all three of the witches' chairs with effortless wandless magic. He was seated at the head of the table, of course. It was difficult for Bellatrix to realise now that she'd initially married him because her father and Tom Riddle had drawn up a contract that had been meant to help Tom Riddle gain an aristocratic bride, to help him socially climb.

How the tables had turned.

"I hear you are now the President of Gringotts, alongside the goblin Bawshank," said Voldemort to Cygnus during the appetiser of grilled asparagus. Cygnus tipped his chin up proudly and affirmed,

"I can serve you better than ever now, My Lord. The bank is entirely yours, if you want it. From me at the top down to the lowliest clerk, Gringotts now operates at your beck and call."

"What a relief that is to hear," Voldemort nodded, sounding very satisfied. "After all, I've got the Ministry, and I've got Hogwarts, and I've got the finest bride and Lady in all the world. The bank is icing on my cake, as it were."

Bellatrix grinned down at her plate as steak and mashed potato appeared, and she asked,

"May we give Cissy our birthday gift now, Master?" she asked meaningfully, and Druella said,

"Why don't you wait until after cake, darling?"

"I think we'll do it now," Voldemort said lightly. "Go ahead, Bellatrix."

"Well." Bellatrix turned to her sister, who seemed curious, and she said, "our birthday gift… it isn't wrapped in a box, Cissy. Our gift is… it's a bit more intangible."

Narcissa laughed a little nervously and shrugged. "Whatever could it be?"

"We're going to raise your child," Bellatrix blurted, unable to keep the secret in. There was a vacuous sort of silence then, and suddenly Narcissa dissolved into an intense, heaving bout of sobbing.

"Cissy?" Bellatrix touched at her sister's shoulder and scowled in shock at Voldemort. "Cissy, have we offended you in some way?"

"N-No!" Narcissa ripped her fists from her eyes and insisted, "No, it's just… oh, this is the most magnificent thing I've ever heard in all my life."

"Bellatrix." Druella sounded utterly shocked. "My Lord. Are you… are you certain about this?"

"We are exceptionally certain, Druella," Voldemort said confidently. "This is a matter that has been discussed ad nauseam, believe me. The decision is made and final. Avery and his wife Nadine are incompatible and have decided to divorce. But it is a blessing in disguise. Avery's backing out made us realise that _we_ were meant to raise this child. Bellatrix is a soldier. She's not meant to be pregnant or bear children. And this arrangement will allow for Narcissa to visit the baby with as much regularity as she wishes. The child will know us as Aunt and Uncle; it will be clear that Narcissa and Lucius were too young to raise the child on their own. But we shall all be family. All of us."

Bellatrix's eyes welled heavily, and when she turned to Narcissa, tears were streaming unbidden down her sister's pale cheeks. Narcissa used her purple silk sleeves to swipe at her tears, and she insisted,

"I could never repay you. Either of you."

"All I demand in return is your service, and Lucius'." Voldemort's voice was firm. "You know we will raise the child properly."

"Oh, of course." Narcissa bowed her head, folded her hands, and whispered, "My Lord. My sister, my Lady. To the both of you I swear my everlasting allegiance and my love. I will never, ever be able to properly convey my gratitude, but, oh, how I shall try. And Lucius. You know him. He will serve you unto his death. The two of us… we are yours. Our child is yours. And we are more thankful than… oh, I overwhelmed."

"Cissy." Bellatrix wrapped her arms around her little sister, suddenly remembering times when they'd been little girls and Bellatrix had not been as benevolent an older sister as she ought to have been. She pulled back and stared at Narcissa's delicate little face, and she could see Morganna. She nodded and whispered, "I'll be kind. I'll be gentle. I am a cruel and angry witch, I know, but not to your child. I will be loving. I will be protective. And I wish you could know…"

She froze then, reading confusion in Narcissa's pale eyes. She couldn't speak of the visions. She sighed shakily and said,

"I wish you could know how deeply devoted the Dark Lord and I will be to ensuring that your child is raised well."

"What greater gift could there be?" Narcissa scoffed a little and looked from her parents to Lord Voldemort, and then back to Bellatrix. "Out of terror, out of fear and dread comes magnificence. Out of Darkness comes the morning. I see it now."

"Happy birthday, Cissy," Bellatrix said, and she pressed her palm over the thick material on Narcissa's hardened belly as she kissed her sister's cheek.

 **Author's Note: A fair warning that there is ONE CHAPTER LEFT in Part II of this series. We will move ahead a week or so in time, and then a few months, for the final chapter, if that gives you any idea. ;) Part III of this series will be entitled** _ **Thoughts That Would Thick My Blood**_ **and will be between 30k-50k. Thanks for continuing to follow this series! Let's finish Part II with a bang!**


	18. And At Thy Birth

"So?" Voldemort folded his hands on his desk at Malfoy Manor, staring up at the squad before him. Crabbe, Goyle, Avery, Mulciber, Rookwood, and the Carrows had been assigned to ambush the Tonks house. Tonight, the night before Easter, had been the designated mission attempt. Voldemort's heart raced as he stared up at his squad. Rookwood stepped forward and said firmly,

"They are dead, Master. All four of them."

"Four." Voldemort nodded crisply. "Andromeda Black, too, then?"

"Yes, sir." Rookwood held his magical Death Eater mask in his hand and seemed a little afraid to give that answer, but Voldemort just shrugged and said,

"She was a traitor. You did Vanish her body, but not the others'? As ordered?"

"As ordered, Master," Rookwood affirmed. "It is as if she never existed. Her death is a disappearance that could never be definitively proven. The others… well. We sabotaged their Muggle oven. It runs on gas. Natural gas."

"Their police will think they inhaled a substance called Carbon Monoxide, which is a poison," said Alecto Carrow. "In reality, we struck them silently in their beds with Killing Curses. No marks. No sign of struggle. We Apparated in and out of the building. Left no fingerprints. We did not cast the Dark Mark in the sky. As ordered."

"I have my reasons for keeping this particular assassination secret," Voldemort hissed, and the others looked at one another before nodding solemnly.

"Of course, Master," said Mulciber. "We trust you. To the ends of the Earth, we trust you. And we have done your bidding. The Tonks boy is dead. His parents are dead. And Andromeda Black is dead."

"Then the threat is exterminated," Voldemort said very lightly, "and the Blood Traitor is gone, and Mudblood is gone, and his filthy Muggle parents are gone. And so all is well. A thousand Galleons to each of you. Go home to your families. Happy Easter."

* * *

"Master!"

He blinked his eyes open as Bellatrix shook roughly at his shoulder. It was hot as hell outside, and even cooling spells hadn't really helped. They had the windows flung open, and apparently an owl had come inside in the middle of the night. Voldemort blinked through the late summer night air at the large barn owl that stared at him from the footboard of the bed. Bellatrix stood beside him, clutching a letter with her wand illuminated in her right hand.

"What's the matter?" he sat up straight, awake now, and Bellatrix exclaimed,

"She's in labour! Cissy! My parents have sent for the Healers; they're going to have to do it naturally. She's already labouring."

"What? It's early. It's only… she isn't due for three more weeks." Voldemort rubbed at his forehead and gulped, suddenly very thirsty, and Bellatrix fretted,

"I never painted the walls in the nursery! The poor baby's room isn't finished!"

"Oh, for goodness' sake." Voldemort heaved himself out of bed and snatched his wand - Dumbledore's old wand, the Elder Wand - from the table beside the bed. He rushed out of his bedroom and across the upper floor of Marsham House. They'd decided that Bellatrix's old rooms, the green rooms that he'd originally painted blue for her, would be Morganna's rooms. It seemed only fitting that the child's nursery should be spacious and very comfortable. But Bellatrix kept insisting that the green of the rooms was too dark, too dour, for a baby. Voldemort had argued with her about it, telling her she'd been very silly, that a baby wouldn't care one way or the other about the colour of walls.

Still, as Bellatrix had filled the nursery with elegant white furniture and wispy, gauzy draperies, Voldemort had rather seen her point. So now he stalked into the rooms and aimed his wand at the walls.

" _Coloratura Verdeblancha,_ " he incanted, and Bellatrix turned up the wall sconces with her own wand. She grinned, her eyes glistening then. The walls were a very pale mint green now. The white furniture and the billowing white curtains seemed perfect, all of a sudden. The peach rose accents, the taupe-coloured teddy bears… it all seemed to 'go' much better with the minty green. Voldemort looked around the room, deciding it resembled a very beautiful rose garden, and he asked Bellatrix softly,

"Better?"

"Much better, Master." She laced her fingers through his and squeezed, and the two of them stared at one another for a long moment before he insisted,

"You and I will still have a life of our own. I will not have it otherwise. We will still have meals alone, you and I. We will be intimate. We will be a married couple together, or else the child will go live somewhere else."

"Master, she will not be our daughter," Bellatrix reminded him. "We are taking care of her. Raising her. But of course you and I will never be parents. We are soldiers. We are warriors. And the world belongs to you."

He cupped her jaw in his hand and bent, brushing his lips against hers, and he informed her softly,

"You will be magnificent."

"I am a little afraid about that," Bellatrix admitted, but Voldemort shook his head and said again very seriously,

"She will be perfect because of you. Because you will be magnificent. I love you. Bella. I love you. How very fortunate I am that you deemed me fit for forgiveness."

"Master." She whispered the word and reached up to hold his face. "I am yours forever. I do not suppose I ever had any choice about that. And the presence of a prophesied child will not change that fact. I am yours."

"We should go to her," Voldemort suggested. "You should be there, when the child first cries."

* * *

"My Lord. Mr Black." Healer Savery came walking down the stairs, and Voldemort rose with Cygnus in the parlour where they'd been waiting. They both had completely full cups of tea before them, both of them utterly unable to consume any liquid or food during the anxious period of waiting. There had been desperate shrieks of pain, groans and then Bellatrix's and Druella's voices reassuring Narcissa. There had been unholy cries of agony, and Cygnus' face had been difficult to witness. Voldemort finally made the man take some Draught of Peace, which had helped at least a little bit.

Lucius Malfoy was too young to be here, they'd decided. It was the middle of the night - well, five in the morning, now - and the boy had only been fifteen for a month. It was inappropriate for him to see the bloody birth of a child he wasn't even going to raise, they'd said. Still, from upstairs, they'd heard Narcissa's thin voice pleading over and over again. _Where is Lucius? Please, bring me Lucius! Someone fetch Lucius. I need Lucius! Lucius!_

She loved the boy, Voldemort knew, and the two of them would marry and serve him. For now, they were children, and the infant whose wails of protest had pealed through the house was just a child born of children.

The infant.

"It is a girl," Healer Savery pronounced. "A very healthy little girl. Narcissa has decided to call her Morganna Thane Malfoy. Please, Mr Black… the child's mother is sedated but healing well from the birth. Madam Black is with her now. You may go in a while; give her a little time to get cleaned up."

"Naturally." Cygnus shut his eyes and touched at his forehead. Healer Savery said then,

"My Lord, the Lady Bellatrix is in her old bedroom with the child, feeding her her first milk. She asks if you will attend them at once."

"Of course I will." Voldemort nodded and gave Cygnus a heavy look. This man had drawn up a contract with him, giving him Bellatrix to help him climb. Now Cygnus was his servant. Voldemort huffed a breath and said, "Cygnus. We shall all be family."

"Yes, Master." Cygnus nodded very confidently then, and Voldemort turned up his lips. He walked slowly up the stairs, walking as though his every step would disturb the many souls needing rest. He padded as quietly down the shadowy corridor as he could, past a room with a shut door where he could hear Druella speaking quietly, and then he froze outside the doorway that he knew led to Bellatrix's childhood bedroom.

" _Darling little child, let your tears dry now. Sweetest little child, let your tears fly away._ "

She was singing. Bellatrix was singing to the child that had been prophesied. Voldemort shut his eyes and listened to the sound of Bellatrix's voice singing, and he remembered Liesl Drucken's prophecy, the one he'd heard as a young man.

 _A silver-haired creature with sapphire eyes shall you gather reluctantly under your wing. And though you shall guide her, ever shall she guide you. Tiny fingers clutched round elder, silver hair hidden beneath cloak of false velvet, gifted obsidian hung round her neck, and she lives thus as long as your selfish heart cries._

Voldemort turned the doorknob and pushed open the door, and when he did, Bellatrix raised her peaceful, large, dark eyes to him. She smiled a little, setting down the empty glass bottle on the bed. She brought the bundle in her arms up to her shoulder and patted her back a little, and then she slowly rose. She approached Voldemort, and he very reluctantly took hold of the child that Bellatrix tucked carefully into the crook of his arm. He stared down at her, at her round little face, her wispy silver eyelashes, her full lips with a drop of milk still upon them, and his eyes seared. He looked down at Bellatrix, who adjusted the white eyelet dress they'd put onto the child, and he whispered one word, a question.

"Morganna?"

"Your silver-haired creature, Master," Bellatrix murmured, quirking up half her mouth. Voldemort's bottom lip fell, and he found he had nothing to say. Bellatrix showed him how to sway, how to angle the baby's head, and she whispered very confidently, "We will be everything."

THE END

 **Author's Note: Well! That's that for Part II of The Storm Series! I'll be taking about a one-week break from this storyverse again to write a romp for Bellamort (which will be entitled** _ **Under Your Charge**_ **, in which Tom Riddle was Bellatrix's/Andromeda's/Narcissa's godfather and Druella/Cygnus are killed in an accident while she's still sixteen).**

 **The next and final installment of the Storm Series will be entitled** _ **Thoughts That Would Thick My Blood**_ **and will begin as soon as I finish** _ **Under Your Charge.**_ **Thank you so much for sticking with this series!**


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